The Long Journey Home: the Complete Second Season
by jetsly
Summary: The cylon civil war leads Natalie Six to forge an alliance with the colonial remnant. As humans and Cylons struggle to overcome the past, enemies old and new threaten the coalition at every turn.
1. Chapter 1: Through the Looking Glass

**DISCLAIMER:** _Battlestar Galactica_ is the creation of Glen A. Larson, and the reimagined universe of _Battlestar Galactica 2003_ is the intellectual property of Ronald D. Moore and David Eick. I do not own the rights to the Battlestar Galactica stories or characters. This is an AU work; no copyright infringement is intended, nor is any profit being made. This author does, however, reserve the rights to characters and plots of his own creation.

**NOTES:** The now complete first season of The Long Journey Home (last posted on 14 October, 2011) opens by branching off from a scene in the season one episode "Six Degrees of Separation," which was more elaborately treated in "The Plan." However, the story actually deviates from canon 35 years before the holocaust, and will remain largely non-canon until it reaches a distinctly different conclusion at the end of season four. Like the series itself, therefore, this story will unfold by seasons, and it will attempt to honor the series breaks as closely as possible. The chapters that follow in this, the second season, will accordingly take the reader from Kobol to New Caprica. For those who have not yet read it, the first season can be easily accessed via "All" for the rating, and "Number Six" and "William Adama" for the characters.

Reviews in general, and constructive criticism in particular, will always be welcome. I WELCOME REVIEWS IN PORTUGUESE, SPANISH, FRENCH, ITALIAN, LATIN, GERMAN, AND THAI AS WELL AS ENGLISH.

**WARNING:** Some chapters do have adult content, including violence and sexual situations. Individual warnings will preface each such chapter whenever the content so warrants.

**THE LONG JOURNEY HOME**

**THE COMPLETE SECOND SEASON**

CHAPTER 1

THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS

Having once sliced the brain out of a Cylon Raider, Kara Thrace considered herself an expert on all matter of things weird. She could handle whatever the universe threw her way, and she was proud of it. So, discovering that her mother was a Cylon had not disturbed her equilibrium. Having a blood-splattered centurion now following her everywhere she went failed to intimidate her. Sharing dinner with a trio of Sixes, all of whom regarded her as their daughter, merely meant that she came from a large family. But nothing quite prepared her for what lay in wait in the hybrid's chamber.

In fairness, Leoben had tried his best. He had described the hybrid in graphic detail, and he had even introduced Starbuck to the world of Cylon projection. The experience had dazzled her. They were standing in one of the baseship's corridors when Leoben offered her his hand. Their fingertips touched, and Starbuck was instantly transported into a verdant forest of tall deciduous trees, the path beneath her feet dappled in sunlight. Leoben had invited her to try and add something of her own to the bucolic scene, and the Cylon had laughed out loud when an especially notorious feature of the Colonial fleet's obstacle training course suddenly blocked the path ahead. Delighted with her new-found ability, Kara had promptly tossed in a babbling brook, complete with a tiny footbridge to carry the path on its way. A doe and her fawn materialized on the bank; they were grazing on the succulent grass, but the sound of Leoben's laughter startled them, and they scampered deeper into the forest. His faith in her fully vindicated, the Two humbly confessed to Kara that, in less than a minute, she had already taken projection well beyond the reach of any Cylon. He was no longer surprised that she had been able to pilot a Raider, and he was frankly eager to see how Starbuck and the hybrid would respond to one another. If anyone could consistently find meaning in the hybrid's typically enigmatic turns of phrase, he was convinced that it would be Kara Thrace.

The two motionless centurions that stood perpetual guard in the hybrid's chamber didn't bother Starbuck. The sarcastic Viper pilot mentally decided to name them Mutt and Jeff, and then she turned her attention elsewhere. The trio of identically dressed Threes who hovered around John and the hybrid next caught her eye. Once she would have found this disconcerting, but over the last few hours she had hugged several dozen blond haired Sixes, each and every one of whom looked like Shelly Godfrey without the glasses. They were all wearing the same severely cut two-piece red suit, which made them seem at once both aloof and alluring. No, what drew Starbuck to the D'Annas was the uniformity of their expressions. She couldn't remember ever seeing a look of such deep contentment on a human face. The Threes made her think of travelers who, after years of living among strangers, had finally found their way back to the familiar and beloved surroundings of home. It fleetingly occurred to Kara that this sense of belonging was the true gift that the two children had brought their parents. On this one ship, Cylons had discovered that there were things in life more important than one's own existence. Kara's thoughts turned yet again to Thalia, and she had to fight to control the tears.

Leoben nudged her gently forward, deeper into the chamber. "That's interesting," he whispered as he pointed in the hybrid's direction. "When we first lowered John into her tank, the hybrid physically connected with him … the same way that we did out in the corridor. But now she's using both hands to support him."

Kara carefully studied the hybrid. Leoben had told her that the construct was female from the waist up, and a bewildering variety of cables, tubes and conduits from the waist down. She understood that the hybrid wasn't simply plugged into the ship but in a very real sense _was _the ship. But now Kara also instinctively grasped a fundamental point that Leoben had alluded to only in passing: the hybrid was emotionally and psychologically female in the most profound sense of the term. The way in which she was holding John Bierns so protectively close made this immediately apparent.

"What do you think it means?" Kara was initially surprised to find that she was whispering as well, but on reflection she decided that this was not a place for loud voices.

"Natalie says that during the battle she could sense John and the hybrid in the stream, two distinct entities standing side by side. I suspect that they're moving beyond that. In some way that Cylons and humans cannot hope to comprehend, their minds are joining. Kara, this may well be the next step on your evolutionary path … _two bodies sharing a kind of corporate mind_! The implications are staggering! Wonderful, and staggering!" Leoben was still whispering, but he could barely contain his excitement.

"Do you mean that I … I could?"

"Yes! John is older and more practiced, but with time and training you will catch up to him."

"No! Leoben, stop it! I'm me, okay? I'm Kara Thrace, and Kara Thrace does _not_ want to have somebody else's mind floating around inside her skull. I mean … there's barely enough room in there for me as it is!" Kara was trying to keep it light and funny, but this conversation was taking her into territory that lay well beyond the bounds of acceptable weirdness. What Leoben was suggesting was truly bizarre.

"Kara, you don't know that," Leoben heatedly whispered, "_and you won't until you try! Look!_" Leoben was gesturing toward the hybrid, whose right hand was reaching out for her. "Go to her, Kara. She's calling for you."

An expectant hush fell over the chamber. Every Cylon on the ship wanted to bear witness to this moment, for they all sensed that they were standing on the verge of something miraculous. Yes, Kara and John were their children, the firstborn of God's new generation, but the Cylons also desperately wanted to believe that in this iteration their children were destined to put an end to the cycles of violence and destruction.

The hybrid's calm and rhythmic cadence was the only sound to disturb the all-consuming silence; her words were meant for Kara Thrace alone.

"_The child of Six, expelled from the womb to the womb returns!"_

The hybrid was euphoric. She was pillowing the First Born against her shoulder, and now the Second Born was within arm's reach!

"_The grains of sand that are home to unbidden dreams command you to cross the thrice discovered country. The child enters the opera house that forever stages the hope that is always and never disappointed. You are the harbinger of death, Kara Thrace. You will lead them all to their appointed end! End of line."_

Hearing this, the assembled Cylons exchanged surprised looks, but the hybrid ignored them all. She waited until Kara was kneeling at her side, and then she reached up to caress her cheek. A tender, welcoming smile graced her lips and warmed her eyes.

Hopelessly out of her depth and not a little frightened, Starbuck nervously extended her hand towards the hybrid's now outstretched fingers. The slightest touch sufficed, and for the second time the world as Kara Thrace knew it vanished in a blaze of light.

. . .

"We're going to get our people off the surface of Kobol." Adama's tone was crisp and matter-of-fact. "Colonel Tigh, make _Galactica _ready for jump. Lieutenant Gaeta, please authenticate the jump coordinates for the fleet."

Felix Gaeta and Shelly Godfrey briefly conferred, double-checking that the coordinates distributed to the fleet matched _Galactica's_ own. When they were finished, the lieutenant turned back to Adama.

"Coordinates match, sir. We're good to go."

"Very well," Adama responded. "Dee, signal the fleet to jump."

"Yes, sir!"

In the background, Adama could hear the various stations reporting in, the sequence rigid and unvarying from one jump to the next.

Lieutenant Gaeta had moved to the FTL console, his hand poised over the large key that, with one twist, would send the gigantic battlestar on its way.

"… five … four … three … two … one … jump!"

_Galactica _led the fleet out into deep space, and paused for the twenty-six minutes that Felix Gaeta and Shelly Godfrey required to calculate the next set of jump coordinates. The fleet would remain in the dark, with a Raptor and six Vipers for nursemaids. _Galactica's _second jump would put her in high orbit over Kobol.

The commander knew that they would find the debris field of the shattered baseship in orbit above the planet, and probably several hundred scattered and confused Raiders as well. What he did not know was whether the search and rescue mission had succeeded or failed. Two hours prior to Boomer and Racetrack setting out on their own high-risk mission, Bill had ordered a pair of Raptors to jump into Kobol's lower atmosphere. Their insertion point was on the opposite side of the planet from the deadly Cylon warship's last reported position, and it would hopefully keep them far beneath the reach of any Cylon DRADIS. If everything had gone according to plan, by now Chinstrap and Swordsman would have piloted their birds around the planet, located and picked up the downed Raptor crew, and then gone into electronic hibernation pending _Galactica's _arrival on the scene.

"DRADIS contact," Gaeta shouted. "Correction … multiple contacts, multiple bearings and caroms. DRADIS counts 377 individual bogies … confirming Raiders and a scattering of Heavy Raiders, sir!"

Adama and Tigh were both staring at the large DRADIS screen above their heads, trying to visualize the location of the larger clusters of Raiders in surrounding space. Since they had never encountered large numbers of Raiders without a baseship in attendance, they had no idea what to expect. Shelly Godfrey was also intently studying the DRADIS display, and her Cylon mind was quick to see the pattern taking shape.

"Excuse me, Commander, but they've detected us. They're converging to make attack runs along five different approach vectors."

"They're going to attack?" Adama looked across the console at Saul Tigh. "How obliging of them," the commander acerbically remarked.

Tigh grinned wolfishly, and started to snap out orders. "Weapons grid to full power," he shouted. "Gunnery officers stand by to initiate enemy suppression barrage. Captain Kelly, get all of our birds into the tubes!"

"Seventy-two Cylon Raiders incoming," Gaeta announced. "Multiple bearings and caroms!"

Tigh waited until the Raiders were well inside _Galactica's_ kill zone. "Commence enemy suppression fire," he ordered. "All batteries execute!"

Dozens of rail guns began to spit out their deadly ordnance, filling the space around the battlestar with a nearly impenetrable flak screen. It took less than twenty seconds to annihilate half of the first wave of Raiders.

"Perimeter established," the XO reported.

"Launch Vipers," Adama called out, "and squawk the SAR Raptors."

"All Vipers clear to launch," Dee intoned. Without waiting for a response, she shifted to a second scrambled frequency. "Nightingale, nightingale, take flight your wings! Repeat. Take flight your wings!"

"Yee-haw," Flyboy screamed as his Viper exited the launch tube. "Let's get these suckers!"

"Broken formation," Louanne "Kat" Katraine yelled out. With Starbuck AWOL and Apollo in the brig, she had suddenly found herself promoted to CAG. "Don't let them use their targeting computers—and for frak's sake, stay out of _Galactica's_ firing solution! Hey, Flyboy," she added, "you know that we've got a pool going, right? To see who gets the most kills now that Starbuck's off seeing the sights."

"Hey, hey, hey," Flyboy snickered, "we know that I'm gonna clean up!"

"Flyboy, this is Actual. Shut up and focus. This is not a simulation. _Now, blast those Cylon bastards to hell!"_

"_Weapons free," _Kat ordered, "and wingmen, stay with your leaders … let's not get sloppy out here!"

In a matter of seconds, the space above Kobol was filled with dueling Raiders and Vipers, the action carrying the adrenaline charged pilots farther and farther away from their battlestar with each successive engagement. And no one noticed the single Heavy Raider that jumped away.

. . .

She was standing on a pearl white strand of beach, which curved gently into the distance before her. A light breeze caressed her face, and the rays of the late afternoon sun warmed her body. Looking off to her left, Kara noted that the beach was fringed with a dense stand of tall palms, while to her right the foaming waters of an unknown ocean gently rolled across the myriad grains of sand, only to retreat slowly back into the sea. At a great distance, she could just make out a chain of islands, tiny dots of green in a vista otherwise dominated by differing shades of blue.

Kara studied the beach ahead of her, and saw three figures farther along the curving shore. A man and woman were seated in the sand, looking out to sea, their arms hugging their upraised knees. A second woman was walking through the surf and steadily drawing closer. Kara took a step toward her—and promptly fell flat on her face.

"_What the frak?"_ The startled pilot screamed out the obscenity, and with difficulty hauled herself to her feet. When she looked up, she saw that the woman had drawn much closer, running across the hard sand at the water's edge. _No … not running … bounding? _She moved with the natural grace of a predatory cat in full stride across the plains of Leonis, the long mane of chestnut brown hair that reached to the small of her back flying behind her. She slowed as she drew near.

"It takes getting used to!" It was the hybrid, and she was grinning sympathetically at the confused pilot. Then she held out her hand. "Welcome, Kara, I'm Deirdre."

Starbuck was stunned, but somehow she managed to shake the proffered hand. This was the hybrid, all right, but no Cylon had ever seen this creature or even remotely imagined her. She was tall and lithe, with firm, well-rounded breasts that seemed perfectly proportioned for her body. The intelligent blue eyes that held Kara's gaze were joyous and full of life. And the sense of femaleness that Starbuck had glimpsed in the tank was now overpowering. She thought of statues that she had seen in the museums to which she had been dragged in her schooldays. _Aphrodite. This is what Aphrodite would look like if one of those statues came to life! _ To call Deirdre beautiful or even stunning would be an injustice … she was _exquisite_!

Kara was breathing heavily as she desperately tried to make sense of a universe that no longer made any sense at all. "Can I talk?" "Yeah," she muttered to herself, "I guess I can."

"So … uh, Deirdre … what is this place? Where are we?"

"On Aquaria. Have you heard of Galatea Bay?"

"No," Starbuck admitted. And then her curiosity got the better of her. "Are we really on Aquaria?" Kara's voice had the breathless quality of a small child on the cusp of some great discovery.

Deirdre's smile grew larger. "Well … yes and no," she finally responded. "Look, let's join the others, and I'll explain as we go along…. Oh, yes, just tell yourself to walk. It's easy, Kara, but in this reality you do have to condition your muscles all over again."

Deirdre held out her arm to support Starbuck, but after the pilot had taken a few steps she relaxed her grip. They began to walk slowly along the beach.

"Kara, do you remember the holoband that Daniel Graystone invented? The device that gave admission to the virtual world?"

"We studied them in school, and I actually saw one once in a museum … it's hard to imagine that something so innocuous could have caused so much damage."

"Well, Daniel Graystone made a terrible mistake. He believed that he had invented the virtual universe when in actuality _he discovered it_!"

"_Whoa!"_ Starbuck stopped dead in her tracks, and reached out to grab the hybrid. "Are you trying to tell me that the virtual world is real … that … _that it exists independent of the holoband_?"

"Yes, Kara, it's quite real. Try and think of it this way. If you could walk through a mirror, this is what you would find just beyond … a different dimension, but it is no less real than the world on the other side of the glass." Now it was Deirdre's turn to reach out and firmly grasp Starbuck by the arm. "Kara, it's really, really important for you to understand that in this place the rules that govern the world as you know it only apply if you want them to. That's why it all went so wrong before the war. Humans need boundaries, but when they discovered this dimension they threw them all away. For an entire generation of young people, the result was chaos."

Deirdre resumed walking, bidding Kara to keep pace.

"So, is this the world that Leoben was showing me? Cylon projection?"

"Um … think of Cylon projection as a slimmed down version of the real thing … an entry level? They can access Holoband 1.0, let's say, whereas this is Holoband 4.5. The differences are stark."

Kara thought it over quietly for several seconds. "So, is that what Leoben meant when he said that I could do things with projection that he couldn't?"

"Precisely." Deirdre was silently debating how far she should take this, but Kara had impressed her. _There's so much of John in her … everything, really, except the self-awareness, and in time that will come as well. I wonder if Hera and Ariadne will be this at ease with who they are._

"Look at me, Kara … _really look at me_." Deirdre turned to face the pilot head on, and put her hands on her hips. "I have legs. I can walk and run and swim in the sea…. I am a woman in every sense of the word … I can make love. . . ." Deirdre's hands unconsciously drifted towards her stomach while she marveled at the miracle growing inside her. "And I'm pregnant. John and I are going to have a baby … a little girl. And Ariadne will be just as real as Sharon's daughter or any human child. She will need love and support, our guidance … and we will always place her happiness above our own. We'll worry and fret, we'll cope with crises, and we'll pray that in the end it will all turn out okay. We'll be parents, Kara … we'll be a family."

Kara Thrace suddenly found it very hard to draw her next breath. Someone, she vaguely remembered, had once remarked that the universe was not only a wondrous place but that its wonders far exceeded the bounds of human imagination. Indeed. Starbuck couldn't recall having ever been at a loss for words-she was, after all, the acknowledged mistress of the snappy come-back- but she had finally arrived at a place where words simply failed her.

. . .

"Wait a minute, wait a minute. LT, check this out." Chief Galen Tyrol was using his binoculars to study the surrounding forest floor. The survey party, or what was left of it, had taken refuge just inside the tree line. The chief figured that, if there were Cylons about, they would be in the same general vicinity.

"What do you have, Chief?" Lieutenant Alex "Crashdown" Quartararo was mentally reviewing their options. The loss of Socinus and Tarn had left him with three knuckle-draggers plus the Vice-President. He thought that the chief might be able to hold his own in a firefight, but he didn't have much confidence in Diana Seelix, Cally Henderson, and Gaius Baltar. All they were likely to do was run up the butcher's bill.

"Forty-five degrees east of the launcher … you see that tree stump?"

"What the hell is that?" Crashdown had trained his own binoculars on the target, but he couldn't identify it.

"It looks like a DRADIS dish. Or at least the Cylon version of a DRADIS dish. It's probably salvaged from the nose cone of a ship. They're building an anti-aircraft battery."

"Anti-aircraft?" Specialist Cally Henderson didn't see the point. "For what? There aren't any aircraft around here."

Tyrol sighed, his mind already jumping ahead to the bloody scenario that might well unfold at some point in the next thirty minutes. "_Galactica's_ going to send a search and rescue team. When they do, that's at least two Raptors doing a low level pass over the crash site. When those Raptors come looking for us, risking their lives to rescue us …"

"The Cylons will shoot them down." Crashdown completed Galen's thought; they were on the same wave length.

. . .

As Deirdre and Kara drew near, Major John Bierns stood up, and with him a second hybrid. The spook had a big grin painted on his face, and he stepped forward to wrap his arms around the young woman who, for so many years, he had regarded as his baby sister.

"Hi, Kara … and welcome to that one place in the universe that I think of as home." John stepped back, and spread his arms wide to encompass the natural beauty that lay all around them.

"Thanks, Major … it's good to see you again, too. Oh, and congratulations! Deirdre tells me that the two of you are going to have a baby girl. That's … well, that's simply incredible!"

John laughed, and reached out to put his arm around Deirdre's waist. He pulled her close, and she turned into him. They shared a long, deep kiss. It was obvious that they were utterly devoted to one another.

"I'm sorry, Kara," Deirdre apologized. "Please forgive our bad manners. I would like you to meet my sister, Reun. It's her baseship that you currently inhabit."

"Re-un?"

"No," John protested, his voice alive with good humor, "not 'Re-un'. Her name is pronounced 'Ruh-ahn.' The 'u' is very soft."

Bierns' expression turned quizzical. "Starbuck, haven't you read any of the classics? Reun is the name of the tragic heroine in Kanha's _Ying khon chua_. It's generally considered one of the finest works in Canceron literature. It was even translated into Caprican. Haven't you ever heard of _The Prostitute_?"

Kara giggled, and started to wave her hands in the air. "I'm sorry, but this is so funny! I mean, think about it. In one dimension I'm holding hands with a creature that's half machine and half woman, and in another I'm talking with a virtual counterpart who's so beautiful that she puts the goddesses to shame. And now you tell me that she shares her name with a tragic character in a Canceron novel about prostitution! Up until today, I would have sworn that no one could come up with this sort of stuff unless they were washing the chamalla down with ambrosia!"

Kara stared unashamedly at Reun. This hybrid was as tall and shapely as her sister, but she had chosen to pile her mass of chestnut hair into an elegant bun that added several inches to her already imposing height. Reun would make any woman in her presence seem ruffled and untidy by comparison. But the expression on her face in this reality was just as warm and welcoming as the greeting with which her other persona had reached out to Starbuck in the hybrid's chamber. Reun stepped forward, and hugged the Second Born close.

Kara hugged her in return. Something inside her was powerfully drawn to these two strange beings. The connection … it felt like family … sisters whom she was meeting for the first time.

"Hey, wait a second!" Starbuck retreated from Reun's embrace. She looked suspiciously at the two hybrids. "If there are two of you, then that means …"

. . .

Two loud booms suddenly exploded in the air over their heads, and Gaius Baltar all but jumped out of his skin.

"What the hell was that?"

"Spacecraft, Doc." Tyrol kept his voice low and steady. Panic was contagious, and it could easily get them all killed. "That's the sound of spacecraft entering the upper atmosphere."

"It's the SAR mission," Crashdown exclaimed, his voice crackling with urgency. "They're here. They're right up there. We've got to go. There's no time for discussion, we carry out the assault on the launcher's control console _right now_ … just like we planned! Everyone up, we've gotta move out. It's game time! We're taking out these toasters before they kill any more of us!"

Crashdown hissed at Cally Henderson. "Cally, I said move! The left flank, Cally … you've got to distract the toasters, or Seelix and I will never have a chance!"

"I can't," Cally wailed. She was petrified with fear, and her legs had turned to rubber.

"_What? Specialist,"_ the Lieutenant snarled, _"I gave you an order!_

"She doesn't have to, LT! We could just go take out the dish." Tyrol sensed panic all around him, and the frakking officer was only making matters worse.

But Crashdown ignored him. "Cally, you have to move. Cally, this is not a joke. _Go!_ This is not a game, Cally. _Go!_ We have people counting on us. They're up there. _Cally, you've got to move!_"

"LT, listen to me!" The chief could hear desperation creeping into his own voice. "We don't have the firepower for a frontal assault, and getting ourselves killed will not save the Raptors! We still have time to double back and take out the dish!"

Lieutenant Alex Quartararo just plain frakking couldn't believe it. _Insubordination in my command? Not now … not ever! _"Shut up, Chief! Cally … Specialist … you have your orders. I need you to get over there and create a distraction _right frakking now! Move! Move!_"

"There were only supposed to be three Cylons," Seelix bitterly remarked; "that's what you told us, LT, and now there are five. _How are we supposed to take on five Cylons?"_

"Frak this shit! Our people are up there and we have to save them. We don't have time for any of this crap. _Cally, move!_"

"_I can't do it,"_ she blubbered.

"_Cally, move!"_

"_No!"_

"Specialist, you're disobeying a direct order, and there won't be any frakking court martial!" Crashdown pulled out his gun and pointed it at the knuckle-dragger. "You're going out there, Cally … you hear me, you're going out there, _or I'm going to blow your frakking brains out! Right frakking here, right frakking now!_"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa … hey … put it down, LT! Put it down!" Galen couldn't believe it. They were so close to the toasters that they could practically spit on them, and the LT was threatening to trigger a suicidal firefight by shooting one his own people!

Crashdown cocked his sidearm. He was staring at the back of Cally's head. "I'm going to count to three."

"This is crazy," Seelix moaned, "this is crazy!"

"One."

The chief took out his own weapon, thumbed the safety, and pointed it at the lieutenant's head. "Put it down … right now." There was ice in Galen Tyrol's voice.

"Oh, my gods!" Diana Seelix wanted to scream, but she couldn't—there were toasters everywhere!

"Listen to me, LT! Drop your weapon!" The chief had made his decision. If someone was going to die here, it would not be Cally Henderson.

"Two." Crashdown was on the verge of tears; the cloistered world of Officer Training School had turned out to be light years removed from the realities that Kobol had thrown up to challenge his leadership skills.

"Three." Alex Quartararo steadied his aim, and mentally ordered himself to squeeze the trigger. He never heard the bullet that snapped his upper spine, the shot fired not by Galen Tyrol or a Cylon centurion but by Doctor Gaius Baltar. Crashdown was dead long before his head came to rest against the branch of a nearby tree.

. . .

"That there are two baseships." Reun quietly conceded the obvious.

"But where …?" Starbuck stopped in mid-sentence as an even more fantastic thought struck her. She looked more closely at Deirdre. "How pregnant … no, uh … how far along is your pregnancy?"

"A little over three and a half months."

Kara tried to add it all up. She hadn't been keeping track of the calendar, but she thought that something like ten weeks had elapsed since the Cylon attacks. And that meant …

Kara whirled on John and looked at him with outright horror. _"You knew!"_ Her voice had sunk to a strangled whisper. "_Oh, my gods! You knew! The CSS knew, and didn't do anything to stop it!"_ Kara thought that she was going to throw up.

"No, Kara, you're wrong. Granted, we couldn't prevent the holocaust, but we did everything in our power to insure the survival of the human race." The spook didn't flinch in the face of Kara's accusation, and his tone was unapologetic.

"Cavil hit us with 214 baseships, and nearly 150,000 Raiders. They had enough nukes to wipe the Colonies out a thousand times over. But the fleet gave a good accounting of themselves, Kara, far better than you or anyone else realizes. We deliberately sacrificed thirty battlestars in the first minutes of the attack, just to convince the Cylons that they had achieved complete surprise. After that, they came strolling in like they were out for a walk in the park … and we hammered them. Cavil lost 197 baseships; factor in Deirdre and Reun's, plus the two that he lost today over Caprica and Kobol, and he's got thirteen capital ships left. Right now, he stretched really thin. He's got five ships chasing the fleet, and another three trying to hunt down a second battlestar…."

"_There's another battlestar out there?"_

"Yes. We believe that it's the _Pegasus_ … Admiral Cain's command. Anyway, there are two resurrection ships trailing these elements, and Cavil has assigned two more baseships to escort each of them. So unless he wants to activate the old first war basestars, the only thing that he's got in reserve is the lone baseship still in orbit around Caprica, and it's tasked to look after a resurrection ship somewhere in the Cyrannus system. We suspect that he will soon abandon the Colonies in order to free up these ships. . . . He's desperate, Kara. He must have pulled two of the baseships chasing _Galactica_ in order to reinforce the pair we fought over Caprica, and now he has to factor a rebel Cylon baseship into the equation."

"We have a window of opportunity here," Reun added, "but it won't stay open forever. Kara, humans can't build more battlestars, but Cavil can _grow_ more baseships. Never forget that you are dealing with organic technology here. The Ones will have three new baseships by this time next year, and four more the year thereafter. The fleet must make good its escape before Cavil rebuilds his forces."

"Maybe … but then again … maybe not." Starbuck's keen tactical instincts had kicked in, and they were leading her in the opposite direction. "We've all become fixated on Earth. What happens if we all find it? It sounds to me like we have a choice. We fight now, when the Cavils are at their most vulnerable, or we fight later, when they have significantly more baseships to throw at us. When you think about it that way, the choice seems obvious, especially if _Pegasus_ is out there somewhere tying up still more of their assets. We should try and bloody their nose while we have the chance."

"Right now, we may have precious little choice in the matter," John gloomily observed, "because we all seem to be heading for Kobol. Once Natalie has topped off our fuel, and taken everything else of value that the asteroid has to offer, Kobol will become our next objective. _Galactica_ will be somewhere in the neighborhood, and Cavil's forces won't be far behind."

"Fine," Kara said, "the more the merrier. But in the interim, would the three of you care to enlighten me about something a bit more practical than the finer points of Canceron literature? I mean … you know … little things like the existence of a second rebel baseship that no one knows anything about? Or you might try explaining how a senior officer of the Colonial Secret Service actually goes about meeting, falling in love with, and eventually impregnating the hybrid on said baseship—the torrid romance occurring weeks if not months before the attack on the Colonies. There's got to be a real story in there someplace! And while we're at it, _is there anything else about this frakking war that I should know_?"

Kara paused, studying the three of them. John was busily concentrating on the sand beneath his feet, idly drawing and erasing lines with his right foot. He reminded her of a guilty schoolboy whom the teacher had just caught doing something particularly naughty out on the playground. Deirdre and Reun were exchanging equally miserable looks. Starbuck shook her head; she was just being her usual mouthy self, but it was pretty obvious that she had inadvertently stumbled upon a fairly ugly truth.

"Is there anything about this war that I do know," she asked in a terribly subdued voice, "or is it all a pack of lies and misplaced assumptions?"

It was Deirdre who finally found the courage to respond. She looked the pilot squarely in the eye.

"Kara, you are entitled to answers—to these and a good many other questions. But the knowledge comes at a high price. You cannot reveal anything that you learn here to the others … not to the humans and most assuredly not to the Cylons."

"The second baseship is our most closely guarded secret," John interrupted, "and it must at all costs remain secret. The outcome of the war and the survival of humanity are still very much in doubt, so it is vital that the Cavils remain ignorant of the truth."

John sighed in frustration. In many respects, he knew Kara Thrace far better than she knew herself, and he understood that they were testing her loyalties in ways that were egregiously unfair. Still, it had to be done. Some very tough decisions lay in Starbuck's not too distant future, and she could not be expected to make them without all of the facts to hand.

Kara's agile mind was racing as she tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. She began to think out loud.

"_But why is it so critically important to keep the Cavils in the dark? And not just the Cavils," _she murmured._ "There's also the question of Roslin and Adama. What does the existence of Deirdre's baseship have to do with the survival of humanity?"_

Her thoughts surged, and then all at once the pieces began to form a coherent pattern. Once the two questions were posed in tandem, the answer seemed self-evident … almost inescapable, really. But it also defied belief. Kara Thrace stared at Deirdre and John in open-mouthed amazement. They were so much more than lovers. She tried to speak, but for several seconds her voice refused to cooperate. The little, mewing sounds that emerged from her throat stubbornly refused to turn into the questions that she badly wanted to ask.

"_How many,"_ she eventually managed, _"how many did you save?"_

. . .

A hail of bullets began to chew up the ground around them, and ricochet dangerously off the trees. Three of the centurions defending the anti-aircraft battery were steadily advancing on their position.

"Fall back! Fall back!" Galen Tyrol was yelling at Gaius Baltar; Cally and Diana were already in full flight, but the Vice-President seemed rooted to the ground.

"Go! Go! Go! Come on Doc, let's go!"

The chief took off into the woods, running with reckless abandon. He didn't look back; he could no longer afford to worry about Gaius Baltar. He had to take out the Cylon DRADIS before the Raptors locked onto their transponder signal, or the SAR birds would be blown out of the sky.

Baltar remained frozen in place. He couldn't move, but it was horror rather than fear that pinned him to the ground. _One death is a tragedy, but a million is a statistic._ The truism had always struck him as such a sick joke, but now he understood the punch line. He had unwittingly connived at the death of billions and could legitimately be held responsible for the destruction of colonial civilization, but it was all abstract … unreal. There was nothing abstract about the large hole in Crashdown's spine. He had just shot the man in the back … murdered him in cold blood. Long seconds elapsed before Baltar recovered his senses, reached out for the assault rifle lying on the ground just beyond his reach, and then scrambled to his feet. He ran after the chief while madly praying that justice wouldn't take the form of a Cylon bullet cutting him down from behind.

. . .

"What's our ETA?" Rufus "Chinstrap" Ayers had clearly heard the transponder emit its reassuring beep, but he couldn't afford to take his eyes off the view beyond the canopy. They were hugging the ground, winding through a heavily forested valley that twisted and turned within towering cliff walls. One second of inattention might be enough to splatter them all over one of the looming rock faces.

"Five minutes," Hog's Breath yelled in return. The ECO's real name was Jared Dalton, but his shipmates never let him forget that he was just a good ole farm boy from Aerilon.

"Are Swordsman and Ponytail within range?"

"Affirmative! They're at our seven, skirting the top of the cliff." Hog's Breath let out a yelp as another powerful gust of wind caught hold of their Raptor and lifted him off of his seat. "Ain't it just like Luke to be afraid of a little fresh air?"

. . .

The baseship flashed into orbit directly above the tylium processing plant, and Natalie Faust waited anxiously to see whether the preoccupied hybrid would acknowledge her order to launch their Raiders. With fully half of their DRADIS array in ruins, Natalie badly needed eyes in the sky. She couldn't afford to be taken by surprise … she couldn't afford to make mistakes, period. Now that she could no longer afford to access the technology, Natalie could easily take the measure of her lifelong dependence on Cylon resurrection. Its loss crippled her tactical options at every turn, and she suspected that her increasingly acute sense of time passing would at some point begin to take its toll on her judgment and actions. Mortals couldn't be reckless, but prudence came with its own all too transparent costs. The minutes and hours that now slipped away were gone forever; her decisions might buy more time, but postponing death was a far cry from evading it. With careful planning and a fair amount of luck, she might live to an advanced age, but in the end death would assuredly find a way to take her in its cold embrace.

But not today, she vowed … not today. Natalie let out a long sigh of relief when her sister Six reported that the Raiders were away. Better still, her ship was reconfiguring its orbital attitude. The hybrid had turned their FTL's away from the asteroid's surface, and what remained of her DRADIS was positioned both to sweep nearby space and scan the facility's weapons platforms. Natalie knew that she had John to thank for these subtle tactical adjustments. Beneath her fingers, she could still detect their child and the hybrid in the stream, but the gap between them had closed dramatically. The two minds were rapidly becoming one; in a matter of hours the merger would be complete, and a life form unlike any other would be born into the universe. And this miracle would occur on her ship. Natalie badly wanted to take John into her arms, badly wanted to hold this living testament to her own deepest desires, but the enormity of what she was witnessing did not escape her. If God had a plan for His creations, then He had tasked His servant Natalie Faust to play a very specific part in the grand design. She would not fail Him.

"Natalie," the blond-haired Six reported, "the Raiders have established a defensible perimeter around us. Before we dispatch the Heavy Raiders, do you wish to test the asteroid's weapons grid?"

Natalie pondered her options. She hated putting the Raiders in harm's way, but they had to find out whether the Five overseeing the mining operation considered them friend or foe. The baseship had far too few Heavy Raiders to expose any of them needlessly to risk.

"Do it," she replied.

Moments later, a dozen Raiders broke away from the baseship's perimeter defense and lumbered lazily towards the surface of the asteroid. Flying slow, straight and level, they deliberately offered themselves up to the same anti-aircraft batteries that had recently claimed several of _Galactica's _pilots. This time, however, the guns remained silent.

_This could still be a trap, _Natalie mused, _but if so, it's a good one. _She glanced across the control room's long central console, making eye contact with the lone Cylon standing on the other side. "D'Anna," she remarked, "it's time. Let Creusa and the Sharons know that the door appears to be open."

The Three connected with the data stream and sent out the command. Far out on the baseship's lead dorsal arm, a gelatinous membrane peeled back, exposing one of the ship's huge hangar bays to the vacuum of space. A pair of Heavy Raiders quickly exited the ship; two more remained in the bay, a reserve force that could be sent to the aid of either advance party on a moment's notice.

The Sharons were both fully suited against the vacuum. Their assignment was simplicity itself: land at the entrance to the mine, open the hatch, and send an entire squad of free centurions on its way. The machines equally had but one objective— to work their way around the mine and methodically eliminate the telencephalic inhibitors that enslaved their brothers. If the Cavils had not yet caught on to the ploy and taken steps to counter it, this part of the mission would proceed without incident.

A full squad of free centurions also accompanied Creusa to the surface. Natalie had personally selected her long-haired, ash blond sister for the far more problematic job of breaching the control room. Creusa was well acquainted with the copy of Aaron Doral who had been left in charge of the facility, and with the quartet of Sixes and Eights who kept the refinery operating at peak efficiency on a daily basis. This was hardly surprising since she had shared this very baseship with the five of them since the day of her activation. Still, Natalie calculated, loyalties and friendships would inevitably be tested as soon as Creusa began to requisition food, supplies and vital equipment, and matters would undoubtedly come quickly to a head once she started to liberate centurions. In the event of a firefight in the close quarters of the control room, Natalie wanted someone with combat experience to be in charge. Creusa had run humans to ground in the jungles of Scorpia, and she had fought side by side with the very centurions that Natalie now hoped to emancipate. Sixes might enter battle wearing high heels and stylish white raincoats, but they never hesitated to steep themselves in blood. And in Creusa's case, as Natalie well knew from first-hand experience, the only thing more enjoyable than the hunt was the kill.

But the vacuum of space did not lend itself to white raincoats, stylish or otherwise. When Creusa cycled the inner airlock, she was dressed in the same nondescript, black flight suit that every Heavy Raider pilot habitually wore. Unfortunately for Aaron Doral, Creusa _hated_ black. Overseers wore black, and as a mere warrior she was expected blindly to do their bidding as if she was some kind of frakking machine. The hard-bitten Six was notorious within the collective: she never failed to execute her orders, but she greeted every single one of them with an insolent "by your command." Natalie was the only overseer whom Creusa was prepared to tolerate, but then Natalie Faust had earned the accolade "Hero of the Cylon" the old-fashioned way. Natalie had charmed her way into the bed of the admiral in command of Virgon's space defenses, and breaking her lover's neck less than ten minutes before the first bombs fell had left his headquarters suitably paralyzed when it mattered most. Natalie had been among the first to resurrect, which had earned her Creusa's grudging respect. The warrior had no use for anybody who hadn't been killed at least once. Still, Natalie was always smart enough to don a blue or white dress before she went off in search of her top enforcer.

Creusa was already in a foul mood, therefore, when she entered the long and featureless corridor that led to the control room. Five very confused Cylons awaited her, but the only one that mattered was Doral. She looked him up and down with undisguised contempt. _Not a hair out of place … freshly shaven … the usual silk tie … razor sharp creases running down both trouser legs … once a fop, always a fop._

"Six, what are you doing here? Why isn't your ship out searching for Adama?"

Creusa didn't even bother to reply. Delicate negotiations were simply not her style. Instead, she pulled out her sidearm, smoothly released the safety, and put a bullet in each of Doral's knees. Then she patiently waited for the outraged Five to stop screaming. 

"Are you done, now?"

Creusa glanced briefly over her shoulder. "You know what to do," she said to the free centurion standing closest to her. Then she stepped aside so that the machines could pass.

"We've had a bit of a quarrel with the Ones," Creusa commented to her four astonished sisters, "and earlier today we blew up one of their baseships in a battle over Caprica. The bastards attacked us without warning. It turns out that they've been systematically lying to us for the last thirty-five years or so. We have fully grown hybrid children, two of them in fact, and there's a third on the way. We're going to try and find the humans, and see if we can work something out. Do you want to tag along, or do you prefer to wait here for the Cavils to show up and box you?"

The four females all made the obvious choice, and their cooperation dramatically speeded up the process of stripping the facility bare. Some four hours later, with the last of the fuel, food, and removable equipment transferred to the baseship, Creusa stood over Aaron Doral for the second and last time.

"Five," she sneered, "I wanted to take this opportunity to compliment you. You really have been running a tidy little facility here. Just out of curiosity, where did the extra two hundred centurions come from?" Creusa had reclaimed the three hundred troops that Doral had originally taken from their baseship, but she had been delighted to discover that the asteroid's work force had swollen to more than five hundred. One could never have enough centurions.

"Frak you," the Five grunted.

"Oh, I don't think so, Aaron. Frankly, you were never my type. Give my love to the Ones." And with that Creusa fired a single bullet into the Five's brain. In truth she didn't know whether there was a resurrection ship within range or not. Nor did she particularly care.

. . .

"We started with 66,214 humans, as well as four thousand of the humanoid Cylons. They're equally divided across the Twos, Threes, Sixes, and Eights. We've suffered a few deaths, but there have been enough births to compensate, so our numbers have actually gone up a bit."

"_Sixty-six thousand plus!"_ Kara let out a long whistle. _"That's un … frakking … believable! Where? No, John … I mean … how far? Where are they?"_

"At any given moment? Right now, roughly ten jumps away. They're ranging ahead of us, but they're much farther out in the dark."

"And the Cavils really don't know or even suspect? How is that possible?" Kara's eyes narrowed as she studied John intently. "What happened to them … you know … I mean, on Deirdre's baseship … not just the Cavils but all their boot lickers … that public relations guy, Doral, and the Simons?"

"We slaughtered them." John paused, obviously searching for words. "No, that's not quite accurate. We unleashed the centurions, and they rounded up all of the Ones, Fours, and Fives and took them to one of the landing bays. Kara, it took _a lot_ of effort to keep the centurions from tearing them limb from limb on the spot; you simply wouldn't believe how much the centurions hate the Ones. But we got them to wait until we could jump the ship out of resurrection range, and then we let them have their revenge. Things got pretty messy, but when it was all over there was no one left to betray our secrets. Deirdre's ship was one of the two sent to nuke Libran, and that became the focal point of our planning for the exodus."

"So, is everyone packed onto the one baseship?"

"No. There are about seventeen thousand people on the baseship, and that includes roughly half of the Cylons. Everyone else …"

John paused for a long moment. "Kara, in time we'll tell you the whole story, but I suspect that it will have little if any impact upon the choices that you must ultimately make. You cannot fight our war without joining us, and I mean that in the most literal sense of the term. Leoben hinted at the truth, but he misstated it. Deirdre, Reun, and I do not constitute a corporate entity. We are still autonomous beings, but there are tangible links between our minds, and once forged these links cannot be dissolved. They are forever. It is this connection that allows the three of us to reach out to one another and come to this place. In contrast, you are here only by virtue of your physical bond with Reun. Release her hand, and you will instantly be expelled from this dimension. You can come here of your own accord, and I will teach you how to do so. I'll teach you how to create a space of your own if this one is not to your liking. But you'll be alone, Kara. _ You can only join us at the cost of what you seem to consider an intolerable invasion of your privacy!"_

The First Born sighed, his voice filled with regret. "Kara, I just wish that you could experience life as we do for a few seconds. That's all it would take to overcome your fears. Deirdre and Reun both live in my mind as I live in theirs. So I'm never lonely, although I can be alone if I choose to be. I can reach out at any time to find them, and in return they can always find me. The warrior in you should appreciate the advantages this gives us if …"

"I'm not ready for this," Starbuck blurted out. "I'm sorry, Major, but it's too much, too soon. You have to give me time. Gods, John, when I last went to bed I thought I was human! My life has been turned upside down, and I need time to digest everything that's happened."

John Bierns nodded his head in understanding. "You're right. I want this for you so badly that I'm pushing way too hard. I'm sorry. . . ."

An intriguing idea suddenly popped into the major's head.

"Kara, would you like to see your mother? I can pass you my memories … they're really just a series of individual images stacked one on top of the other, but they're quite vivid. I can take you all the way from the moment you were conceived until shortly after your birth, when …"

"When what?"

"When she died." John's expression was haunted; this was old pain.

"Some things at the end … perhaps I should filter the images for you …"

"No!" A very determined look crossed Starbuck's face. "No," she said again, more softly. "Show me everything. Please … don't leave anything out."

. . .

Natalie entered the chamber, and quietly walked up to stand at Leoben's side. The Two had not moved in hours, nor had his attention ever wandered from Kara's face. He had registered every subtle shift in her expression, had cataloged the wide range of emotions that he thought she was experiencing.

"Brother," Natalie whispered, "have you entered the stream since their joining?"

"No." Leoben's gaze remained fixed on Kara's face.

"You should. It's so beautiful. John and the hybrid … their minds … it's so beautiful. And Kara. Leoben, we can all sense her in the stream. Her presence … it's so bright, so intense … it's like watching a star being born. When I touch her I feel like … like I'm being reborn. It's as if nothing that came before really matters. She's the Guide, I'm sure of it. And she's going to lead us home. It's God's will."

. . .

Kara did not even know that she was crying, but her tears fell softly into the hybrid's tank. The images filled her mind, the mother whom she had never known close enough to touch and yet forever beyond her reach. She understood the hybrid now. _The hope that is always and never disappointed._ The words were so very, very bittersweet. She watched herself being born, being nursed; her mother, always so beautiful, now glowing from some inner light. And she heard Cavil's taunts, the cruel mockery; she saw the muzzle flash, felt the brief but searing moment of incredible pain as the bullet tore into her mother's brain.

Kara was sobbing uncontrollably; she did not even feel the gentle fingers of the Six kneeling at her side and stroking her shoulders, the angelic face etched with sympathy and concern.

The hybrid gently lowered Kara's hand to the deck, and let it go. Kara's mind was instantly transported back into the hybrid's chamber, but the depth of her anguish was so great that for a time she was oblivious to her surroundings. She buried her head against the Six's chest; she was crying and screaming, forcing the words out.

"She's out there! My mother … our mothers … _he boxed them_!"

Kara was blindly pounding on the Six's back with her fists, shrieking at the top of her lungs. She did not see the looks that passed between the Threes and Sixes in the chamber. Natalie's face went rigid, and there was nothing but death in her eyes. Ten words, just ten … but they were enough to transform the nascent Cylon civil war into a full-blown struggle to the death. There would be no quarter, and no forgiveness.

"_I'm going to find her,"_ Kara shrieked. _"I swear by all that's holy, I'll never stop looking, never give up! Never!"_

Kara began to spasm, her body wracked by sobs that threatened to tear her apart. The Six held her tight, tried to gentle her as best she could. It took a long time.

"The hybrid's name is Reun," Kara sniffled. She had finally regained sufficient self-control to look around the chamber and see their faces. "She's beautiful and kind and wise … and she loves you in ways that words cannot convey. She's so much more than a machine … so much more. You should love her in return."

Kara's eyes settled on Leoben. Surely, she thought, Leoben will understand.

"She's my sister."


	2. Chapter 2: It's Good to Be Alive

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT**

CHAPTER 2

IT'S GOOD TO BE ALIVE

The air was thick with Cylon projectiles, and it was just a matter of time before some of them began to find their mark. Diana Seelix was a few strides behind Cally Henderson; they were both literally running for their lives, seeking whatever protection the darker recesses of the forest might offer. Without warning, the back of Diana's left thigh suddenly exploded with pain. She was knocked off her feet and found herself sliding across the rough forest floor, exposed roots instantly tearing gaping holes in her uniform.

"_Cally! Cally!"_

Diana screamed out her friend's name. Without hesitation, Cally Henderson reversed course and ran back to her fallen comrade. With Cylon bullets tearing up the ground all around them and a torrent of adrenaline flooding her body, Cally brutally yanked Diana to her feet, and then began to half-carry and half-drag her into the shelter of the nearest tree.

A second bullet found the back of Galen Tyrol's left leg, and as he crashed to the ground the heavy but still portable launcher that he was carrying flew out of his hands and sailed off into the forest.

"Doc! Give me the launcher! Give me the launcher, Doc! Come on!"

Coming up from behind, Gaius Baltar's first instinct was to help the chief, but then his finely honed sense of self-preservation kicked in. Without the launcher they couldn't take out the Cylon DRADIS, and an operational DRADIS would put a quick and fiery end to the Search and Rescue Raptors that were now overflying the valley. _And without the Raptors I'll die on this rock!_

Gaius scrambled about, found the launcher, and somehow got it into the chief's hands.

"Cover me, Doc! Cover me!"

Baltar had completely forgotten about the assault rifle that he was still carrying. He spun around, and began firing more or less blindly in the general direction of the approaching centurions. At that precise moment, two anti-aircraft missiles leapt into the sky and began tracking the birds that had come to take them home.

"Missiles," Ponytail screamed. "There's a battery down there somewhere!"

"Evasive," Luke "Swordsman" Hammond yelled into his headset. "Break! Break! Break!"

Piloting the second Raptor, Rufus Ayers was already engaged in a violent left turn that would bring him in closer to the forest canopy. Hog's Breath had also spotted the missiles, and now Chinstrap had to decide whether to climb for the sky or try and lose the missiles inside the forest. It was suicide either way.

Galen Tyrol rolled over onto his back. The damn DRADIS was almost directly above him! Steadying himself on the ground and ignoring the steady stream of high caliber rounds that all five centurions were now pouring into the forest, the chief raised the launcher and fired.

"No lock," Hog's Breath and Ponytail were both screaming, "no lock! They're not locking onto us!" The two missiles continued harmlessly to speed across the sky, and were quickly lost to view.

Baltar had caught up with Diana and Cally; the three of them were hugging the bole of the giant tree while Baltar and the centurions continued to exchange fire.

"Chief!" Baltar was alternately firing at the toasters and turning to stare fixedly at Galen Tyrol, who was now pinned down out in the open.

"Stay there," Galen yelled, "stay there!"

"Chief! Chief!"

_Frak this!_ Galen Tyrol had had enough. Climbing to his feet, Galen hauled out his sidearm and began firing at the five red-eyed monsters that would soon send him to Hell. _But I'm not going alone, you bastards!_ The chief was firing wildly, but to his infinite astonishment every round was finding the mark. The toasters were exploding one after the other!

And then Galen looked into the air, and saw the SAR Raptor hovering just inside the tree line.

_Thanks_, Galen thought.

_You're welcome_, Chinstrap quietly offered in return.

_It's good to be alive._ In Gaius Baltar's adrenaline charged brain, there was room only for that one silent thought. _It's so good to be alive._

. . .

Sharon felt strange, and it wasn't due to the child growing within her womb. She and Helo had been alone and on the run for so long, and they had spent so many nights sleeping under the stars on the hard Caprican ground. One would rest while the other stood watch, their trust in one another the only absolute in their small corner of the universe. She couldn't pinpoint the hour or the minute when she had abandoned the Plan … had become an enemy to her own kind. It was before they had made love, of that much she was sure, but there had been no epiphany moment. The feelings welling up inside her had steadily assaulted her programming, and somewhere along the way they had overwhelmed it. Sharon secretly wondered if this was the source of the living miracle taking shape inside her belly. She had renounced the Cylons, and consciously separated herself from the collective. She had chosen of her own free will to devote herself to Helo body and soul—and then she had become pregnant the very first time that they had made love. An outcast, she had fully expected to give birth on Caprica or, if they were very lucky, on_ Galactica_. She had resigned herself to lifelong exile, only to discover that she welcomed it. Sharon made no attempt to hide from the truth: she wanted nothing to do with her own people.

And now they were inside a baseship, surrounded not by enemies but by fellow outcasts. Tonight she would share a real bed with Helo for the first time, and they would sleep secure in the knowledge that centurions whose vigilance never wavered would watch over and protect them.

Sharon's feelings were deeply conflicted. Her sister Eights had already placed her on a pedestal, the desire for babies of their own evident not only in the reverence with which they touched her belly but also in the openly appraising way in which so many of them stared at Helo. She wanted her baby to be safe, but she was genuinely afraid of losing the man she loved. Her sisters were soft and gentle, inviting and compliant: life's harsher realities had never diminished their beauty. But Sharon knew that two months on the run had hardened both her body and her personality. She had a lot of sharp edges now, and Karl had been exposed to most of them more than once. Sharon no longer felt special, never mind unique—she felt threatened.

Awash in uncertainty and cursed for the first time with shyness and self-doubt, Sharon hesitantly led Helo by the hand into the chamber that would now be their home. She tried to see it through his eyes. A large, bright red sleeping couch dominated the room. It could not help but do so because it was the only piece of furniture in the entire chamber. Sharon winced. The Cylons did not accumulate possessions, so naturally there were no dressers or closets. Even clothing was strictly optional; many of her sisters regarded it as an unnecessary affectation. The two entrances lacked doors because Cylons did not share the human need for privacy. Would Helo be able to make love in a space that had never been designed for romance?

And then her heart melted, and she fell in love with Karl Agathon all over again. She had long since discarded her flight suit, and now Helo helped her to shed everything else. He kissed her passionately, his lips and tongue and hands wandering all over her body, though he paused long enough to add his own clothing to the small pile on the floor.

Sharon shuddered with anticipation as Helo's tongue explored her mouth. Then he began nibbling on her earlobe before moving on to tease the nipples of her breasts with his darting tongue. Hungry lips sucked hard on her teats while Karl's large hands alternately squeezed her buttocks and massaged the back of her thighs. She could feel the heat starting to rise along her spine as her juices began freely to flow. Sharon reached down to stroke Helo's manhood, only to discover that he was already hard as a rock. Karl softly moaned as she grazed the inside of his right thigh with her fingernails; he could wait no longer. He pushed her gently down onto the bed, but there was nothing gentle about his lovemaking. She raised her hips to meet him, and then she wrapped her legs around his back, pulling him in as deeply as she could, reveling in his ever more frenzied pace. Sharon began to buck, and then to moan, and when she finally came she screamed with pleasure. Karl was only a second or two behind her, his panting more and more rapid until it finally gave way to the ecstasy of climax. _"Yes,"_ he cried, _"yes!"_ The one word, repeated over and over again, echoed throughout the chamber.

Afterwards, as they lay comfortably in one another's arms, Karl Agathon finally got around to asking Sharon about the one thing that their bedroom truly lacked.

"Hey, babes, do you think that we might find a box of suckers on this tub? Cherry or grape would be a gift from the gods!"

Sharon laughed, and cuddled her head against the warmth of his chest. She inhaled the smell of him, and listened to the rhythmic beating of his heart. It was so good to be alive. She accessed the subroutine that would send her gradually to sleep, and just as gradually wake her in the morning. Her last thought bespoke the depth of her love for Helo, and the fullness of her own awakened passions: did Karl like to start the day, she wondered, in the same way that he ended it?

He did.

. . .

Strictly speaking, she was not supposed to be here. With the ship on alert, Sergeant Erin Mathias was supposed to be at her duty station, keeping two full squads of marines primed to repel all boarders. But this was not a task that she could delegate to anyone else, and Commander Adama needed to know what they had found down in Officer's Quarters _right now_.

Mathias beckoned to one of the marines guarding the entry to CIC to open the hatch. When she stepped into _Galactica's_ combat heart, she could hear the chatter of the Viper pilots as they fought their life and death duels with enemy Raiders. It was instantly apparent that, in this battle as in all the others, her friends were badly outnumbered.

"Duck, Hot Dog defensive. Two on your five."

"Break right, Duck!" Mathias recognized the voice; whether she was on the deck or in the air, Nora Farmer never allowed Tucker Clellan to wander too far out of her sight.

Erin walked up to the central console. With their gaze riveted on the DRADIS screen above their heads, neither the commander nor the XO noticed her. Mathias cleared her throat.

"Excuse me, Commander."

Adama still seemed unaware of her presence. _"Commander Adama,"_ she said more forcefully; "sir, this is urgent."

Mathias stole a quick glance at Shelly Godfrey, her eyes pleading with her Cylon friend to intervene. Having been publicly humiliated by the spectacularly inebriated Six with no name, Erin and Shelly had both quickly come to realize that misery does indeed love company. They had found in each other a refuge against the bantering, sometimes good-humored and sometimes malicious, to which both had become subject in the battlestar's corridors and ward rooms.

Shelly Godfrey understood that something terrible must have happened to summon Erin Mathias to the CIC in the middle of an alert. A knot suddenly formed in the pit of her stomach; she got up from her seat at the navigation console, and walked toward the commander. She stopped when she was just out of arm's reach.

"What is it, Sergeant?" Colonel Tigh's attention was still riveted on the DRADIS screen, but Adama had finally noticed her.

Sergeant Mathias swallowed hard. Everybody on the _Galactica_ knew how the commander felt about Sharon Valerii. The sergeant wanted to talk to Adama in private, but she understood that he could not leave the CIC in the middle of an engagement.

"Sir, there's no easy way to say this. Boomer … Lieutenant Valerii … is dead. A suicide. We just discovered her body in her quarters. Commander … I'm so sorry."

Watching the light die in William Adama's eyes tore at Erin Mathias' heart. She heard Shelly's quick intake of breath, but she refused to turn her head. The sergeant didn't even want to think about how hard this must be hitting her friend. Mathias knew only too well that the Cylons were capable of genuine emotion, and she was equally cognizant of the fact that Shelly Godfrey cared a great deal about Boomer.

"Bill?" Shelly was fighting hard to keep her emotions in check; Bill Adama was visibly withdrawing into himself, which she found infinitely frightening. His face had settled into a rigid mask.

"Bill?" Shelly tried again; she was desperate to reach him, but she didn't think that he was even aware of her presence. The man she loved had simply vanished.

"Erin," Shelly softly queried, "when did this happen?"

"Shelly, we don't know. We only discovered her by accident. Officer's territory is completely deserted during an alert." Erin Mathias knew exactly what Shelly was thinking … it was why she had stormed out of Sharon's billet and raced to the CIC.

"_Bill?"_

Shelly shook her head in despair, and turned to Saul Tigh.

"Colonel, we have to get out of here! You need to recall the fighters and get them on the deck as fast as possible." Shelly switched her attention to Gaeta. Felix, the SAR Raptors … are they in the air?"

Felix Gaeta briefly scanned the DRADIS console before turning back to address her. "Yes, but they're still six minutes out." Gaeta was looking at her curiously.

"_Frak!"_

The epithet turned heads everywhere in the CIC. No one had ever heard the commander's very proper Cylon lady resort to profanity. Most of the crew was quite prepared to believe that she didn't even know the meaning of such words.

"Listen to me, all of you." Shelly's eyes swept the room. "Boomer's dead. We don't know when it happened, and far more importantly, we don't know whether there was a resurrection ship within range. But we have to start from the assumption that she's downloaded, which means that Cavil knows where we are. _Look at the DRADIS, Colonel!_ Shelly pointed anxiously up at the screen. _"The Vipers are scattered all over the system!"_

"Holy Mother of Artemis," Tigh exclaimed, "she's right!" The DRADIS was a nightmare: transponder signatures were spread across its entire face.

"Of course she's right," Adama growled. The urgency in Shelly's voice had snapped him out of his reverie. "Dee, recall the fighters- combat landings authorized- and tell Chinstrap and Swordsman to get their birds into the bay ASAP. Lieutenant Gaeta, do we have reciprocal jump coordinates in the system?"

"No, sir, but I'm on it!"

"Captain Kelly …"

"DRADIS!" Felix Gaeta yelled out. "Single contact!" A very long second went by. _Come on, come on, _he silently pleaded, _ID the frakking ship!_

_Frak! _"Cylon baseship, bearing 487, carom 015, distance …"

. . .

"… distance 14 MU's," the Six called out from her secondary console … "and their Vipers are to hell and gone!"

"_Yes!" _Cynthia pounded her fist on the long central console in predatory delight. "I've got you, Adama … this time, there'll be no escape!"

"Two," she ordered, "launch everything we've got. Put three flights of Raiders between _Galactica_ and the largest cluster of Vipers. Build a wall out there, and don't let anything through! I want another hundred Raiders to go out and toy with their fighters, but don't shoot them down!"

The Leoben copy looked at her curiously and was about to object when Cynthia cut him off. "If we destroy Adama's Vipers, he'll jump … and we don't want him to jump. As long as he thinks that he can save his precious pilots, he'll stay put … right where we want him. Task one flight for perimeter defense and position our last two flights just beyond the periphery of _Galactica's_ suppression barrage. A large attack group like that should force Adama to commit his reserve Vipers, and we might even entice him to waste a bit of ammunition."

Cynthia turned back to the blond-haired Six who handled combat navigation. "Philinna, close the distance. Put us one MU outside _Galactica's _kill zone, any bearing, carom 000."

"Five, load targeting package delta foxtrot," the black-clad, blond overseer continued. "Input launch coordinates for _Galactica_'s landing bays but hold up the launch until their reserves have cleared the ship!"

A cruel smile played across Cynthia's lips. _Adama, if you only knew what a surprise I have in store for you!_

. . .

"They're launching Raiders," Gaeta shouted. "DRADIS puts the number at seven hundred!"

"Gods, Bill," Tigh said in response, "that means there's more than a thousand enemy fighters out there. They've got us outnumbered over twenty to one!"

Adama looked sharply at his XO. "Tell me about it."

Shelly Godfrey was still standing at Adama's side, but she was analyzing the constantly shifting patterns on the DRADIS above her head.

"Bill, it looks like a couple of hundred Raiders are headed our way, and the baseship is steadily closing the range. They're spoiling for a fight."

Adama glanced up at the DRADIS, but it didn't tell him anything that he didn't already know. They were under siege, and it was going to get a lot worse before it got any better.

"Dee, order the reserve Vipers to launch. And as soon as they're clear, get me Captain Birch. . . ."

"Catman is on the line, sir."

"George, this is Actual. I want you to leave the baseship and the incoming Raiders to us. Your job is to clear and secure a path for the SAR Raptors. Acknowledge."

"Understood, sir," Catman replied. "And don't worry, Actual, we'll bring them home."

"Very good. Colonel Tigh, confirm all compartments secure. Ready enemy suppression barrage, and load ship-to-ship ordnance in tubes four through twenty. Stand by to execute."

"Incoming ordnance," Gaeta yelled. "Conventional warheads only … repeat … confirming, no nukes in the package!"

"They're going for the landing bays, Saul."

The XO nodded – it was the obvious ploy. "Gunnery captains," Tigh said, his voice oozing confidence that he did not really feel, "you know the drill; stand by to initiate flak screen." The colonel gave it another second. "Execute."

The rail guns along the entire length of _Galactica's_ starboard side simultaneously opened fire, throwing up a barrage that knocked down all but two of the incoming Cylon missiles. The warheads slammed into the heavily armored upper surface of the starboard pod, causing minimal damage.

"Mr. Gaeta, let me know when the baseship is at nine MU's. Dee, get me Kat."

"Done, sir."

"Kat, this is Actual. What do you hear?"

"Nothing but the rain, sir!"

"Then it's time to come home."

"Sorry, sir, but no can do. My dance card is really full, sir!"

"Understood, Louanne. Teach them the Tauron two-step! Actual, out."

Inside her helmet, Louanne Katraine was grinning from ear to ear. She couldn't believe it. The commander had just authorized them to go after the baseship itself!

"All right, boys and girls," Kat announced, "form up and follow me. Our target is the central axis of the baseship!"

"Commander," Gaeta called out, "the baseship has closed to nine MU's!"

"Thank you, Mr. Gaeta. Colonel Tigh, on my mark, launch missiles in tubes four through twenty … mark."

"Confirming launch," Tigh replied. We have seventeen birds outbound!"

. . .

"_Galactica's_ launching more fighters," Philinna reported.

"Excellent!" Getting Adama to over commit was a critical part of Cynthia's plan.

"But they're not establishing a perimeter defense," the Six added with obvious puzzlement. "They're heading for the surface of Kobol."

"_What?" _This was not at all what Cynthia had been expecting to hear. Having already died twice, she had long since lost her taste for surprises. They could have a nasty sting; she had learned that lesson the hard way on the surface of Caprica, when the human she had been hunting reversed the trap and closed it around her. The ridiculous ease with which he had captured her had left Cynthia feeling angry and humiliated, but his questions had put the acid taste of fear in her mouth. She never wanted to experience that sensation again.

_Adama, what are you up to?_ Then Cynthia had a flash of inspiration.

"Philinna, Adama must have forces on the ground or in the atmosphere. He's committing his reserves to protect them. Scan everything between _Galactica_ and the surface … _find them!_"

The Six studied the data flowing through the stream for several long moments. Then she looked up.

"_Got them," _Philinna announced. "A pair of Raptors. They're still in the atmosphere, but they'll be in space in less than a minute. The Vipers are on a direct course to intercept them."

"Do you want me to dispatch Raiders?" The Two had his hand poised over the stream.

"Do it," Cynthia promptly replied, "but do not engage." She was grinning maliciously. "We want those Raptors to make it home!"

Cynthia felt the warm glow of triumph building up inside her. First, _Galactica_ … next, the fleet … finally, _Pegasus_. The war would soon be over.

"Five, launch the first strike, then reload and launch again. Keep hitting them … we want to wear them down."

"Excuse me, Cynthia," Philinna interrupted. "The Vipers are massing. They'll either try for home … or try for us."

"Seventeen missiles inbound," an Eight reported. "Conventional ordnance only."

"Excellent," Cynthia said again. "Two, task the Raiders on point defense to take care of the missiles, and break up the Raider screen and send all three hundred of them after Adama's Vipers. I want to see total chaos out there! Let's give Adama and his pilots the illusion of hope!"

Cynthia paused, luxuriating in the moment.

"Three, open the trap door."

. . .

"New DRADIS contacts!" Gaeta couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice … or the fear. "A pair of Cylon baseships! One bearing 513, carom 067 on our negative axis, 11 MU's and closing fast! The second is on bearing 226, carom 85 positive, also 11 MU's but holding the range. Commander, they've boxed us!"

"Helm," Adama snapped. "Starboard, two-thirds turn; full negative pitch and yaw. Colonel Tigh, load ship-to-ship missiles in tubes twenty-four through forty; continue targeting the first baseship's central axis. Portside gunnery captains, extend our firing solution to maximum range …"

Adama paused just long enough to glance at his XO. "It's time we started punching some holes in their Raider net."

"The two newcomers are launching Raiders!" Lieutenant Gaeta's eyes went wide as he pondered the DRADIS screen in front of him. "Sir, DRADIS stipulates fourteen hundred new bogies, but they're not all on the display … it's clogged. But we are under attack on multiple bearings and caroms … they're hitting us in groups of a hundred or more."

Tigh audibly groaned. "Starboard gunnery captains," he called out in a wearied but good humored voice, "prepare to execute _another_ enemy suppression barrage at maximum range on my mark … mark!"

"All three baseships have just launched missiles," Gaeta yelped. "There are sixty inbounds, twenty per track. Commander, the newcomers are firing nukes!"

"Commander," Shelly announced, "I have calculated and entered our reciprocal jump coordinates. We can leave at any time." Once she had concluded that Felix Gaeta was being overwhelmed, Shelly Godfrey had returned to the navigation console. Working at a frantic pace that pushed her Cylon brain to its limits, it had taken her less than three minutes to derive the data points. But reciprocal jumps weren't all that hard—she simply had to account for the known course and speed of galactic rotation. She could get them home.

Bill and Saul exchanged a very long look. "Not without our pilots," Bill muttered. "We're not going anywhere without our pilots!"

. . .

"How are their Raptors progressing?"

Philinna frowned as she rechecked the data flowing through the stream. "Cynthia, they are still over two minutes out. Adama's course change has pushed them into a stern chase."

Cynthia grinned wickedly. "Well, let's not make it _too_ easy for them! Two, have the Raiders go after the Viper escort. Let's give Adama a few casualties to mourn! And while you're at it, let's slow him down. Send a thousand Raiders directly into _Galactica's_ path: we don't want the Raptors to run out of fuel before they catch up with their battlestar!

"More missiles incoming," the Eight remarked.

"Oh, Bill," Cynthia murmured to herself, "you do keep trying, don't you?" Her Raiders had intercepted all seventeen of _Galactica's_ first salvo, and she had no doubt that they would perform equally well against the second.

. . .

Vice-President Gaius Baltar had begun actively to wonder whether his very long day in Hell would ever end. After crash landing on Kobol, shooting a colonial officer in the back, and getting involved in a firefight with five Cylon centurions, he had convinced himself that things couldn't possibly get any worse. He was wrong. The trip back to _Galactica_ had turned into a nightmare that was challenging even his hyperactive imagination. It had been his singular misfortune to board a Raptor with an Aerilon ECO. Aerilon! Hog's Breath had an accent so thick that it could pass for caricature, and there was an odor about him that made the hairs on the back of Baltar's neck stand to attention. Jared Dalton had cracked Baltar's carefully repressed memories of his childhood wide open. The pub on Saturday night. Every frakking pub on the planet had smelled that way on Saturday night. His father had dragged him through them, one after another, and he had never bothered to bathe before setting out for his weekly descent into drunken mayhem. None of the farmers had ever bothered to bathe. What would have been the point? It was time better invested in drink, so the smell of pigs and manure had followed them everywhere. Baltar had spent years scrubbing that guts-wrenching accent out of his speech patterns, just as he had spent years scrubbing his body to erase the odor that clung to every child of Aerilon. Hog's Breath was unknowingly dragging him into a past that he had fought hard to escape, taking him full circle in the last minutes of his life.

For Gaius Baltar was convinced that he was going to die. The Cylons had suddenly come out of nowhere, to overwhelm the pitifully small number of Vipers that Adama had been able to spare for their protection. Beyond the Raptor's canopy, the Raiders were now so thick that a head-on collision seemed inevitable. There were hundreds of them, maybe thousands. Three of their escort had already died. Spinner had screamed at Sheppard to take it down hard, but the pilot had not reacted fast enough, and Baltar had glimpsed the fiery explosion that claimed his life. The scientist had played Triad with Honey Bear in the pilot's rec room, had tried to seduce the seductive blond with the sultry voice on more than one occasion. And now she was gone, one of two pilots who had died trying to punch a hole in the Cylon ranks through which the Raptors might escape. Baltar was numb with exhaustion, his brain so tired that he could barely think. He just wanted it to be over. If this was about Crashdown's murder, Gaius perversely concluded, the gods were meting out justice today with uncharacteristic efficiency.

In the distance, a nuclear detonation lit up the night as a missile struck home.

. . .

"One nuke, incoming," Gaeta shouted. _Galactica's_ dozens of rail guns had put up a formidable flak screen, but it wasn't impenetrable, and one of the Cylon missiles had found a gap.

Colonel Tigh picked up his phone, and switched the setting to shipwide hail. "All hands, brace for impact. Repeat, incoming nuke, all hands brace for impact."

"Helm, hard to port," Adama commanded. "Positive pitch and yaw, one-third." Adama was rolling his ship, trying to take the hit at a sufficiently oblique angle that the nuke's kinetic energy would be largely dissipated in space. But he knew that more of the deck plates that he could ill afford to lose were about to get fried.

The nuke slammed into the starboard side of the mighty battlestar, pushing the ship even harder to port. But it missed the landing bay.

Adama and the XO were both hurled off their feet, but they were back at their accustomed stations in a matter of seconds. "Get me a status check on the starboard damage control panel," Tigh growled. He glanced at his long-time friend. "Bill, we can't take much more of this."

"Not without our pilots," Adama spat.

"DRADIS! New DRADIS contact," Gaeta yelled. "Bearing 472, carom 022 … it's another Cylon baseship! She's launching raiders!"

Adama pounded his fist on the central console, his frustration plainly getting the better of him. The Cylons had set a trap, and he had fallen for the bait hook, line, and sinker. He had made one bad call after another this day, but it no longer really mattered. The aged battlestar couldn't limp off without its Vipers because it would no longer be able to protect the fleet. _He had to bring them home!_

. . .

"_Regroup! Regroup!"_ Louanne "Kat" Katraine was screaming into her headset, trying to get her fellow pilots to form up for another sortie against the baseship. Their first attack had run into a solid wall of Raiders, and it had cost them dearly. Flyboy, Falcon, and Bobo had all perished in dogfights against overwhelming odds. But now the Raiders were scattered all over space as well, so if she could just get her hotshot Viper jocks to regroup, their second pass would have a better chance of punching through to the target.

"_Holy frak,"_ Louanne shrieked. "_Galactica_, another base ship just jumped in. It's so close that, without the canopy, I could reach out and pet it! They're launching Raiders … hundreds of them! And they're firing off missiles. . . ."

"_Oh, my gods … oh, my Gods! Galactica, _you are _never_ going to believe what's happening out here!"

. . .

"Another baseship has just jumped in," Philinna calmly announced, "and our sister is launching Raiders." Her eyes went wide. "Cynthia, the ship is right on top of us. Distance 6 MU's!"

_What the frak? _Cynthia frowned. She had tasked three baseships for this operation, not four. Even Adama would be forced to sacrifice his Vipers in the face of such overwhelming odds. She had to keep him out there long enough for the Heavy Raiders to complete their mission!

"Philinna, where are those Raptors? How long before the Heavy Raiders reach the target?"

"Less than forty-five seconds," the blond-haired Six responded.

"We have missiles inbound," the Eight screamed, _"and there's a nuke in the mix!"_

"_What?"_ To Cynthia, this didn't make any sense at all. "Has Adama unleashed another barrage?"

"_Negative,"_ the Eight raged, "it's the baseship! _Our own baseship is firing on us!"_

"_What? No-o-o!" _The massive Cylon warship shuddered as a brace of conventionally armed missiles tore a hole in the base of the central column. Two seconds later, another and far deadlier missile poured through the gap. Its nuclear warhead detonated deep in the ship's bowels, and Cynthia's world perished in a sea of bright, white light.

. . .

"_Galactica_, Kat. The baseship is gone! I say again, the baseship is gone! The new arrival just nuked it to hell! And we've got Raiders fighting Raiders out here … hundreds of them! _Galactica_, what are your orders? What do you want me to do?"

Louanne heard a soft chuckle in her headset. "Do you like my new playmates, Kat?"

"_Starbuck?"_

. . .

Saul Tigh was staring at Bill Adama in slack-jawed amazement. Neither man had the faintest idea as to what was going on—but Adama wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Helm, come about … starboard, one-third. Bring us up fourteen degrees north, then make steady as you go. Gunnery captains, concentrate your fire on the Raiders blocking the path to our Vipers … we need to get them home. Mr. Gaeta, where are the Raptors?"

"On approach, Commander. Less than thirty seconds."

"Commander," Dee interrupted, the stunned look on her face a mirror of what she was actually feeling. "Sir, we are being hailed by the Cylon baseship. It's … it's Starbuck, sir!"

"_Starbuck?"_ Adama simply shook his head; there was no point in even trying to guess what was going on out there. "Put her on speaker, Dee."

"What do you hear, sir?" Starbuck's voice was distinctly playful.

"Nothing but the rain," Adama replied in his most neutral tone.

"Sounds like a pretty big thunderstorm over here, Commander! So, tell me … is this a private party, or can anybody play?"

"Kara, what are you up to? What's going on?" In the background he could hear the murmur of other voices, both male and female, but he couldn't make sense of what they were saying.

"Excuse me, Commander," a female voice broke in. "My name is Natalie Six … please think of me as your counterpart on this vessel. Commander, we don't have much time. I'm down over a hundred Raiders from a battle that we fought over Caprica yesterday afternoon, so we can't stay here very long or Cavil's Raiders will chew us up. We both need to get out of here. Commander, we are tracking three Heavy Raiders trailing behind two of your Raptors, and there are five other Heavies closing on your position along multiple bearings. You are about to be boarded, and in strength. The Ones may be trying to take over your ship rather than destroy it. Please be advised that your marines need to arm themselves with explosive rounds; regular ammunition will have no effect on the centurions in these boarding parties. We can offer you assistance, but only on the opposite side of the jump. We simply do not have enough Raiders to clear a path between our two ships."

Colonel Tigh was already on the phone to Sergeant Mathias. "Sergeant, we are about to be boarded. At least three squads of centurions are going to breach the port flight pod. Issue explosive rounds, and secure the Auxiliary Fire Control and Secondary Damage Control stations. Oh, and one last thing, Sergeant—send a detachment to reinforce the guard outside CIC on the double!"

"Sir," Starbuck cut in, "might I suggest that you order the Vipers to take refuge in one of our landing bays? They're a lot closer to us than they are to you. Our Raiders can bring them in safely, and we can return them to you when we come out of the jump. . . . But we will need the jump coordinates."

Kara was chuckling; she was clearly enjoying herself. "Like you always say, Commander, it's time to roll the Hard Six!"

_Our landing bays? Our Raiders? What in the name of the gods is happening here? _Adama gnashed his teeth; he was squeezing the telephone so hard that Saul Tigh thought he might crush it. They both registered a loud, thumping noise that seemed to emanate from the port landing bay. The Raptors were home, but they had brought the Cylons with them.

Tigh picked up his own phone. "Action stations, action stations," the XO intoned. "This is a shipwide hail. We have centurions in the port flight pod. Prepare for boarding action."

Adama was staring at Shelly Godfrey, his uncertainty written all over his face. He needed help, and he wasn't ashamed to admit it.

"Starbuck," Adama said in a clearly frustrated voice, "I'm helpless here. The proverbial blind man. It doesn't matter whether I sleep with my eyes open or shut."

"I disagree, Sir," Kara Thrace instantly responded. "The blind man always sleeps with one eye open!"

The commander and the XO looked at one another, and each man nodded, visibly relieved. Starbuck wasn't acting under duress.

Adama looked once more at Shelly Godfrey. He was in an agony of indecision.

"Bill," Shelly said, loud enough for everyone in the CIC to hear, "it's a leap of faith. You have to trust them."

The commander looked about the CIC. A battle might be raging in space all around them, but his staff was no longer paying much attention. It had all come down to this. Every eye was riveted on William Adama.

Bill made the call. He nodded his head, and then a second time, more confidently. "Dee, get Kat on the line. . . ."

"Kat, this is Actual. You are ordered to land all surviving Vipers on the baseship. The two ships will jump together, and we will get you back on the other side."

"Say again, Actual … _you want us to land on the baseship?_"

"Affirmative, Kat. Land all of our birds on the baseship."

"Roger that, _Galactica_. All right, hotshots, you heard the Old Man. We land on the baseship, and we play nice!"

"Dee," Adama ordered, "please transmit Shelly's jump coordinates to the baseship. Am I still talking to them"

"Affirmative, sir."

"Baseship, this is _Galactica_ Actual: my compliments to you all. We are forwarding our next set of jump coordinates. We will hold until you have made ready for jump, and then we'll go together."

"Thank you, Commander," Natalie replied. "I look forward to meeting with you as soon as possible. We have a great deal to talk about. Again, please be advised that we have four squads of free centurions standing by in one of our hangar bays. Give us the chance, and we'll deal with the slave centurions who are boarding you … and we'll do it with much less loss of life, human and machine."

_Free and slave centurions? Bierns claimed to have freed mechanical slaves on the asteroid. Are these the same toasters? _"I'll consider your offer, Miss," Adama responded. He was madly stalling for time. "But for now, let's just concentrate on getting everybody out of here in one piece."

"Kat," Adama continued, "what is your status? Please confirm when you are on the deck."

"Actual, we are already inside the baseship … repeat, we are inside the baseship. You can jump at your discretion."

"Thank you, Kat. Colonel Tigh, retract the landing pods. Make ready for jump. All departments report."

A minute later, with hundreds of Raiders still nipping at _Galactica's_ heels and the space around the ancient battlestar alive with missile tracks, the two unlikely allies jumped for home.

. . .

She swam past a billion red data points, a microscopic firmament whose light could rival the stellar glow of any galaxy in the universe. She surfaced in the tub, and angrily slapped the goo that encased her.

"_Frak,"_ Cynthia angrily exclaimed. She had done this twice before, so for her there were no mysteries to enthrall the imagination. _"Frak, frak, frak!"_

She glared at the resurrection nurses standing around the sides of her tub. "What are you staring at?"

Cynthia climbed out of the vat, swaying on shaky legs as her Cylon brain struggled to assert its control over this new body. "Get away from me … all of you, just stay the frak away!"

Cynthia couldn't figure out why they had resurrected her. She was a worthless, frakked up machine. The Cavils had given her two baseships, and she had managed to lose them both. She didn't deserve another chance, and they certainly didn't need to give her one. The human form Cylons had to breathe and they had to eat … and food was in perpetually short supply. Losing considerably more than ninety percent of their baseships in the attacks on the Colonies had forced them to box a comparable percentage of her brothers and sisters on the Resurrection Hub. There were millions of other Sixes out there, and she was certain that they couldn't all be this frakked up. It was time to give someone else a try.

The human had told her that she was fighting on the wrong side. And he had told her that, one day, she would see the truth, and that she would join all of her sisters in fighting with the humans against Cylon tyranny. He had spoken with such complete conviction and sincerity that she had been very badly shaken, but the fear that she had experienced on Caprica was nothing compared to the icy terror which now gripped her heart. It had already started. Whatever had triggered it, a Cylon civil war was already under way.


	3. Chapter 3: Till Death Do Us Part

CHAPTER 3

TILL DEATH DO US PART

"Report," Tigh barked. "Miss Godfrey, Mr. Gaeta, report!"

_Galactica_ had just come out of jump, but something was seriously wrong. Shelly was certain that they were in the right place, but the fleet was nowhere to be seen.

"DRADIS is empty," Felix Gaeta answered defensively; "no contacts."

"No contacts? Where's the fleet?"

"Dee," Adama interposed, "do we have any comm traffic?"

"Checking all channels, sir," the petty officer replied. "Negative. No colonial signals. They're gone, sir."

"DRADIS," Gaeta yelled. "Single contact … it's the Cylon baseship, sir."

"Don't make assumptions, Mr. Gaeta! Dee, hail the baseship." The XO was fond of both Gaeta and Dualla, but this was the kind of mistake that could get them all killed. It was his job to make sure that the junior officers didn't lose focus.

Dualla turned to address Adama. "Sir, I have the Cylon commander on the line."

"Thank you, Dee. Put her through." Adama picked up his phone.

"Commander, this is Natalie Six. We are detecting residual energy traces in near space. The pattern matches the jump signature of a Cylon Raider. Was your fleet here, Commander?"

"Yes. They must have jumped away."

"And I suggest that we do the same … neither one of us wants to be here when Cavil's baseships follow up on the Raider's discovery. Can you supply us with their emergency jump coordinates?"

"Yes, but it will take a few minutes for Miss Godfrey to update them. While we're waiting, I'll have my communications officer transmit our current transponder frequencies. We can avoid tragic errors if the Raiders and Vipers are on the same frequency."

"Commander, I agree … and let me thank you for the gesture. We appreciate how difficult this must be for you, if only because yesterday was an equally hard day for us."

"Would you care to tell me what happened?"

Natalie sighed. "Commander, it's a long and quite complicated story. Frankly, I would prefer that you hear it from Kara and Leoben … you and the President both."

"Very well," Adama nodded. "But I wonder if you have any information about Major Bierns … Major John Bierns? We sent him out to affect a prisoner exchange with one of your baseships, and he hasn't reported back. He's long overdue."

Natalie sighed again, and even over the phone Adama could detect the sharp edge of regret. He tensed.

"John is with us, Commander, but he has been badly hurt. One of my sisters attacked him the moment that he stepped onto our ship. She was one of seventeen whom he hunted down or killed on Caprica after the attacks, and she wanted her revenge. . . . Kara tells me that you know about this?"

"The broad outlines, yes, but not the details."

"The centurions destroyed her on the spot, but the damage had already been done. She kicked him viciously in the side of the head, and he quickly lapsed into a coma. We have no experience treating such injuries, so we were extremely fortunate that one of the seven women whom we retrieved from Caprica to complete our side of the transfer is a qualified surgical nurse. If you wish, I can ask Larissa to come to the control room and give you her professional evaluation of John's condition."

"At the present time, that won't be necessary. When we rejoin the fleet, she can consult with our chief surgeon, Doctor Cottle."

Adama frowned. "Natalie, there's something here that I don't understand. You say that the centurions killed the Cylon who attacked Major Bierns. Were they under orders to honor the truce?"

"No," Natalie replied, the regret once again clearly evident. "It never occurred to me that one of us would do something so … so …"

"I hear you," Bill quickly interjected. "But, Natalie, let me very blunt. What I can't fathom is the whole idea of a centurion retaliating against a Cylon who attacks a human. Since when did it cease to be open season on humans? _Why are you helping us?_"

Several moments passed, enough to make Adama wonder whether the connection had been broken.

"Natalie?"

"Commander," she finally answered, "when John freed the centurions on the asteroid, he triggered a chain reaction that spread to our ship. It's at this point that the story gets … complicated."

"Why don't you give me the abridged version."

Natalie laughed, but it was a hollow sound, the anguish that results from years of betrayal.

"The short version, Commander? The short version is that John is our child. We learned yesterday that he is the first child ever born to human and Cylon parents. His mother is a Three … one of the D'Annas."

Natalie's voice grew very soft, but it was laced with such deep bitterness that it sent a chill down Adama's spine. He shivered involuntarily.

"Do you know what one of the Fives called him when they were trying to destroy us? The Ones and the Fours and the Fives? They called him the Abomination. Is that your gut reaction as well, Commander Adama? Do you think that our children are abominations?"

Saul Tigh looked anxiously at his long-time friend. Bill was strangling the telephone with one hand and the console with the other. His body had gone rigid, and a dozen different but equally indecipherable emotions seemed to be playing across his face simultaneously. Whatever the skin job was telling him, it was hitting him very, very hard.

Felix and Shelly had finished their computations, and they had both turned to address the commander. But the expression on his face stilled them both. Shelly glanced around the CIC. Most of the staff had nothing to do at the moment, so they were watching Adama. The tension that held him in its grip was a contagion, and it was spreading like wildfire. The room's atmospherics were changing by the second.

Bill couldn't offer Natalie a reply for the simple reason that he had gone completely numb. He didn't seem to be feeling anything at all. First, the news of Boomer's death, and now this … emotionally, it was more than he could take in. But he now had the answer to a lot of nagging questions … and at long last, the major's agenda had become transparently clear. He had preached forgiveness at every turn, built bridges, done everything that one man could do to tamp down on their hatreds. The commander was dazed. _How long has he known? Did his superiors in the Colonial Secret Service know? _And then Bill thought about that last mission with the _Valkyrie_, the eagerness with which Corman and the other senior officers had sent him forth to stir up the hornet's nest. _It must have killed Bierns inside, watching the Admiralty work overtime to provoke a war that he would have sold his soul to prevent. Gods! No wonder the years have treated him so badly._

"Commander, are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here. . . . Natalie, _he's not an abomination_." Adama softly shook his head. "There have been times when I wanted to beat the life out of him, _but he's not an abomination_. I would never say or even think that!"

"I'm glad, Commander … because there's more."

Adama listened for a few more moments, and then his knees buckled. If he had not been unconsciously holding on to the console so hard, he would literally have collapsed. Saul Tigh thought that Bill had just taken an invisible sledgehammer squarely on the chin. His own anxiety level flying off the charts, the XO started around the console. Equally alarmed, Shelly Godfrey was already on her feet.

And then Bill turned to face her, and she stopped dead in her tracks. He was staring at her, staring through her, visibly struggling to digest some incredible revelation. And somehow, it had something to do with her—that much was obvious. Shelly could see- they all could see- that Adama was stunned. Whatever the Six was saying had rocked the commander; Shelly wondered whether the heavens were about to open and swallow him whole.

"I want to see her," Shelly heard him say, his eyes never leaving her. There was a pleading quality to his voice that she had never heard before.

"I understand, Commander, but that may prove difficult. Even on this ship, the centurions follow her everywhere. They have become extremely protective."

"So it's a package deal? Natalie, give me a moment." Adama reluctantly turned away to look across the CIC.

"Captain Kelly, where are the Cylons?"

The officer was bending over a schematic of _Galactica's_ innards. "Sir, it looks like they've split into three forces," he replied. "One moving forward …"

"And one moving aft," Bill finished.

"Yes, sir."

"Aft Damage Control and Auxiliary Fire Control … no surprise there," Adama commented. "But what's the third force up to?" Perhaps, he thought, his counterpart could furnish the answer.

"Natalie?"

"Still here, Commander."

"The centurions have divided into three groups. As expected, two of them are targeting Secondary Damage Control and Auxiliary Fire Control. Do you have any idea what the third objective might be?"

"They might be after your magazines, or possibly the CIC … perhaps both. . . . Commander, where are the Cylons?"

"Lydia is with the fleet, but everyone else is on board. Simon is in sickbay, and Shelly is here in the CIC. Six will be with one of our marine units."

"_I beg your pardon?"_ Natalie had heard Adama clearly enough, but thought that she must have misunderstood him.

"She's the marines' unarmed combat instructor," Adama confessed. "She's actually very good."

"I have no doubt," Natalie exclaimed with a small laugh. Adama's feelings for Kara Thrace, which she could plainly hear in his voice, had broken the tension within her. "Tell me, Commander, are you really so trusting, or do you simply like to live dangerously?"

Adama smiled into the phone. "There are plenty of people around here who would say that I'm guilty of both. Let's just say that your children have had an unhealthy influence on my thinking these past couple of months."

_Children? We have children? _Shelly's next thought was that the heavens had indeed opened, and then she realized that she was blinking and couldn't stop. The subroutine had somehow reverted to the default setting. She began frantically to purge the infected program. 

"_The Cylons have kids? _This has got to be some kind of frakkin' joke," Saul protested._ "Here in the fleet?"_

"Oh, much better than that, Colonel!" There was a merry gleam in Adama's eyes. "It turns out that they've been hiding right under our very noses … right here on _Galactica_! One of the D'Annas gave birth to a son …"

Bill turned towards Shelly, and held out the telephone. "… and one of the Sixes had a daughter! I don't know how we could have missed it … the resemblance is pretty damned obvious! Shelly, please entertain your sister. Colonel … you're with me."

Shelly had to struggle to find her voice. "Natalie? It's Shelly." The two Sixes began to converse in a hushed whisper.

Adama and Tigh had joined Gaeta and Kelly. The four officers were scanning the battlestar's schematics.

"Lieutenant Wallace reports that his unit destroyed two centurions at this junction." Gaeta tapped the drawing. "They've trapped a third in the ship's laundry. It can't walk, but it's still shooting."

Aaron Kelly took over the briefing. "Sirs, Sergeant Mathias indicates that her team took down four centurions on deck eight at frame fourteen. They drove off three others, but opted not to pursue. So, we've contained the threat to Auxiliary Fire Control, but those three centurions are raising havoc on the lower decks. Mathias doesn't have the manpower both to chase them down and secure the AFC. She's awaiting orders."

"Thank you, Captain," Adama said. "Saul, get on to Mathias. I want her to send Six and another marine to the laundry. Let's see if Six can get the centurion to stand down. But Mathias and the rest of her squad are to hold Auxiliary Fire Control until relieved. Tell Wallace that, once the situation in the laundry room has been resolved, he's to break his squad up into teams of two and chase down those three centurions."

Bill returned his attention to Felix Gaeta. "Now, what about Aft Damage Control?"

"Sergeant Hadrian reports that her unit had to halt their advance on deck ten at frame sixty-nine. The Cylons cut through the hull ahead of her, and the compartments are open to space."

"Smart move," Kelly observed. "It keeps us from chasing them."

"Gentlemen," Adama remarked, "there's nothing to prevent the Cylons from reaching the decompression safeties except the security detail in the brig. They're only a couple of decks up. Lieutenant, contact the brig's OOD. He's to release Apollo and put a gun in his hand. Apollo's to take whatever troops he can find, arm them with explosive rounds, and secure Aft Damage Control. Make sure he knows what's at stake, and tell him that help is on the way. He will be reinforced by a full squad of centurions in a matter of minutes; Kara or one of the skin jobs will be in command."

"_Centurions, sir? _We're bringing _centurions_ aboard?" Aaron Kelly was now certain that he was trapped in a very bad dream.

But Adama had already walked away. As he took the telephone back from Shelly, for the first time he could hear gunfire in the distance. It was time to roll the Hard Six.

"Natalie? If the offer still stands, I could use two squads of your centurions ASAP. I need one to reinforce my son in Aft Damage Control, and the other to help defend the CIC."

"You have them," Natalie snapped. "The port landing bay?"

"Correct. How fast can they get here?"

"Less than three minutes. I'll send Kara and Creusa … she's one of my sisters, and our best warrior. They can sort out who goes where themselves." Natalie began to send the order through the stream to the hangar bay. "But Commander … I don't want to expose any of our centurions to friendly fire!"

"Understood." Adama was thinking furiously, and then he snapped his fingers. "Natalie, would your centurions object to having a bit of paint on their torsos?"

The beautiful young Six smiled knowingly. "Commander," she replied, "it's clear that we Cylons have a lot to learn about the fine art of improvisation. I'm beginning to see how you have managed to hold your own for so long despite being so badly overmatched."

Now it was Adama's turn to smile, but he quickly turned serious. The enemy force had also landed in the port pod. "Dee, see if you can reach anyone on or around the hangar deck. I need someone to carry out the single, most bizarre order in the history of the colonial fleet!"

When the two Heavy Raiders were lowered into the landing bay, Specialist Anthony Figurski was waiting on the deck, paint brush in hand. He figured that he'd be able to drink free on this story for the rest of his life. As they disembarked, the knuckle-dragger hastily slopped a stripe of bright, red paint onto the chassis of twenty Cylon centurions. Front and back … front and back … twenty centurions, twenty stripes. Word was already spreading throughout the battlestar: Kara Thrace was back, and she had brought a whole bunch of new friends with her.

. . .

When Lieutenant Eammon Pike jumped down from his Viper and began to look around the Cylon hangar bay, the first thing to catch his eye was an approaching centurion. It seemed to be heading right for him.

"_Toasters,"_ Gonzo screamed. His training kicked in, and he brought his sidearm to bear. He fired off three shots in rapid succession; all three hit the mark, but they bounced harmlessly off the centurion's hard metal carapace. The machine stopped, and simply stared at him. It made no attempt to retaliate.

"_Enough,"_ Kat yelled as she jerked his arm toward the ceiling. _"Is there something about 'play nice' that you don't get?"_

"Thank you, Lieutenant. It's nice to know that humans do have occasional bouts of common sense."

Kat looked off to her left. One of the blond Sixes was walking towards them, with what appeared to be a small army of centurions at her back. The Six was smirking, and that instantly rubbed Louanne Katraine the wrong way. She waited, hands on hips, for the blond Cylon to draw near.

"Speaking of common sense," she retorted, "whose bright idea was it to send a lone centurion to welcome us on board?"

The smug grin on Creusa's face abruptly disappeared. She examined _Galactica's _current CAG with hard, appraising eyes, but Kat had a checkered past, and she was not easily intimidated. She held the taller woman's gaze, and through sheer force of will managed to ignore the centurions. If the blond bitch wanted to turn this into a pissing contest, Louanne had already decided to accommodate her.

"Company's coming," she heard Hot Dog mutter from somewhere behind her. "More toasters, at your seven."

Kat glanced over her left shoulder. _Great … it's the rest of the frakking Cylon army._

At least a dozen centurions were striding imperiously across the hangar bay, and even at a distance Kat could see that their leader was covered with dried blood. Whether intended or not, the machine made for an intimidating sight. Kat licked her lips, and for the first time since she had entered the baseship, knew the acrid taste of fear.

Louanne could just make out a second blond head behind the solid wall of centurions, so she began mentally to prepare herself for another round of dirty looks and snide remarks. It was only when the ranks parted that she caught sight of Kara Thrace.

"Creusa," Starbuck said, "dial it down a notch, will you?" Then, to Kat's infinite surprise, Kara turned to the blood soaked centurion, who was standing to her immediate left. The AWOL pilot rested a hand on the toaster's right arm, and looked up into its now stationary red eye. "It's all right," she continued as she gently patted the metal arm, "these people are my friends." The machine … Kat would have sworn that she could see it visibly relax.

"And you," Starbuck added as she glared at Louanne, "do you think that you could swallow your pride just long enough to show a little gratitude? These people saved your collective asses out there, and they pulled Adama's butt out of the wringer as well. The words 'thank you' would not be out of place here."

"Frak you, Starbuck," one of the older male pilots hissed. "We were doing just fine when you showed up. That baseship was ours!"

"Yeah, Beano … sure … you were doing just great," Starbuck sneered. "That's why the Old Man ordered you to land on a Cylon baseship. You had everything under control."

"_Enough, already!"_ Kat spun around to confront her fellow Viper jocks. "I want all of you to park your overinflated egos right frakking now! Lieutenant Thrace is correct. This baseship is the only reason we're not all standing on the banks of the Styx looking to cadge a ride to the opposite shore. It won't kill us to show some appreciation."

Louanne turned around, and offered her hand to Creusa. "Thank you," she said.

The tall, blond Cylon slowly extended her own hand in return. She was rapidly reevaluating Lieutenant Louanne Katraine. Creusa didn't know humans well, but she understood that such displays of humility were rare. Here was a person that she just might be able to respect.

"You're welcome, Lieutenant," she replied, her upraised eyebrows betraying her surprise. "Perhaps one day you'll return the favor."

"_Creusa!"_ An Eight was striding rapidly towards them. "Commander Adama needs our help. Natalie wants you and Kara to go over with two squads of centurions. You need to get one squad to their CIC and the other to Aft Damage Control."

"I'm coming, too," Kat exclaimed.

"Make that two of us," Hot Dog quickly added.

. . .

"Are those gunshots?"

"Yes, Madame President," Apollo responded. Dressed in the red uniform that passed for prison garb on the _Astral Queen_, Captain Adama cut an incongruous figure in _Galactica's_ brig.

"Then we can't stay in here. Corporal Venner, open the door."

"You know I can't do that, Madame President," the corporal patiently replied.

"Corporal Venner," Roslin continued, "Captain Apollo and I have no intention of being locked in these cells and shot like rats in a cage. Now open the door!"

Several seconds passed while the young marine balanced his orders against the needs of the immediate moment. Still not sure that he was doing the right thing, Venner slowly opened the two cells.

"Thank you," Laura said as she stepped across the threshold. Apollo and the President had barely emerged from their cells when they heard a scurrying at the hatch. Venner spun about, and brought his assault rifle to bear.

"Hey! Hey! Hey," he shouted.

"Corporal Venner, don't shoot! It's Lieutenant Burrell. I have a fire team with me!"

Venner let out a long and noisy sigh of relief. "Come on in, Gunny."

As Lieutenant Terry Burrell was about to enter the brig, he paused to address one of the soldiers waiting outside. "Bonnington, keep an eye on the companionway."

"We're clear, sir," the private countered.

The former gunnery sergeant, who was now one of _Galactica's _few marine officers, handed Lee a set of combat fatigues. While Apollo was dressing, Burrell laid out the situation.

"Captain, we've been boarded. This deck is crawling with toasters. They're trying to get to the magazines. But the real danger is Aft Damage Control— if they can get to the ADC, they'll vent us all into space. The Old Man wants us to hold the ADC until relieved, but we've got to find some explosive rounds first. Apparently nothing else will stop the bastards."

The gunny handed Apollo a sidearm. "And here's the real kicker, sir. Relief _is_ on the way … in the form of a squad of centurions."

"_What? You can't be serious!" _ Apollo was so shocked that he was almost rendered speechless. Roslin, Lee, and Venner were all staring at Burrell, the incredulous looks on their faces communicating their disbelief far more effectively than the captain's stunned response.

"The word is, sir, that Starbuck's back, and that this time she's brought an entire baseship with her. Sir, my orders come straight from the CIC. Secure Aft Damage Control, and hold until relieved by a squad of Cylon centurions. Lieutenant Thrace or one of the skin jobs will take command."

"Gunny," Apollo retorted, _"this is insane! How in the name of the gods are we supposed to tell one set of centurions from the other?"_

Terry Burrell cleared his throat while shaking his head. "Sir, believe it or not, the good guys are supposed to have a bright, red stripe painted on their chests and backs. No red stripe, and we blow the bastards to hell, sir!"

"Captain Apollo," Laura Roslin interrupted, "can I be of any help?"

Lee shrugged his shoulders in obvious resignation. "Right now, I suppose that the best thing you can do is … stay alive … oh, and don't get shot. Leave the Cylons to us."

Apollo concentrated on remembering the layout of this end of the ship. "Okay," he concluded, "the sickbay is the safest spot. It's farthest away from any potential targets, and it's designed to function as a disaster shelter in case the ship is lost."

"Right." Venner was shaking his head in agreement. "That's good!"

"Lieutenant," Apollo said, "I want you and Venner to get the President down to sickbay. Take Private Bonnington as escort. Don't be heroes … when you hear the sound of gunfire, you head in the opposite direction."

"You've got it, Captain."

"Captain Apollo … what about you?"

"Well, Madame President, I'll take the rest of Terry's team, and we'll head towards the gunfire."

Apollo stepped through the hatch. In addition to Bonnington, there were two other privates waiting outside. The pilot vaguely recalled their names … Twinam, and Collishaw.

"Okay, listen up," Apollo ordered. "There's a small arms locker on Causeway Bravo, two decks down. We're gonna go get some explosive rounds, and then we're heading for Aft Damage Control. Twinam, you take point."

"Yes, sir!"

Laura Roslin walked up to shake Lee Adama's hand. "Good luck, Captain. May the Lords of Kobol protect you."

"And you, too, Madame President," Apollo replied.

Apollo looked around the small group. "Okay," he said. "Let's go. Everybody move!"

. . .

Lieutenant Jeremy Wallace and the Six with no name were squatting on opposite sides of the hatchway that opened into _Galactica's_ laundry. A lone centurion was trapped inside, but the loss of its legs had done little to reduce its combat effectiveness. The machine appeared to have an endless supply of ammunition.

The lieutenant wasn't eager to waste human lives in a frontal assault: while it was still dangerous, the machine wasn't actually going anywhere. So, he was looking for a more creative solution.

"Six, I'm open to suggestions," Jeremy said. "It doesn't need food or sleep, but what about its power source? Can we outwait it?"

"It's powered by a nuclear fuel cell," the Six sarcastically responded. "It should run down … in about two hundred years!" _Officers! _Prolonged exposure had done nothing to alter Six's jaundiced opinion of _Galactica's_ officer corps, male or female. Apollo was the only one who even vaguely interested her. At Lydia's wedding, the handsome, blue-eyed pilot had paid her far more attention than the occasion required. He had even taught her how to dance. Six knew that Lee found her fascinating, and she was pretty sure that he wanted to bed her. She had waited patiently for the younger Adama to make his move, but it had never happened. She figured that the CAG still thought of her as a machine, and that a misplaced sense of pride was preventing him from cozying up to a "skin job."

"Well, do you think that you could order it to stand down? That worked on the asteroid, didn't it?"

"Absolutely … and that's why it isn't going to work here. There's an old Aerilon expression, Lieutenant, something about going to the well once too often?"

"Come on, Six, it's at least worth a try."

_Officers! This one seems determined to get me killed!_

"Fine," she said. "Stand clear."

The Six with no name stood up and leapt into the center of the open hatch combing.

"_Centurion,"_ she called out, _"stand down!" _

Six didn't wait for an answer. She was already diving for cover before she had even finished speaking. A hail of bullets sliced through the air where, a second earlier, she had been standing. Hiding behind the protective cover of an industrial-sized drier, she could just make out Jeremy Wallace. The lieutenant was still cowering in the corridor.

"Gee," she mocked him, "that went really well!"

. . .

Apollo, Collishaw, and Twinam had dropped down to deck twelve, and were advancing cautiously towards the small arms locker. There were bodies everywhere, but the sound of gunfire had now ceased. Lee found the silence infinitely more frightening than the proverbial cannon's roar. _Galactica_ was a warren of twisting passageways, and they were often partially blocked by crates stacked from floor to ceiling. If the Cylons decided to set an ambush, the three of them would find out about it the hard way.

"Twinam, eyes to the front. . . . Collishaw, watch our rear. Are we clear? Collishaw … are we clear?"

Apollo knew that he was repeating himself, knew that his nerves were showing, but he couldn't help himself. _Damn it, I'm a pilot! I've got no business chasing centurions through this rat's nest! How can these two remain so calm? _For the first time, Lee was genuinely grateful for the rough cloth from which colonial marines were cut.

"The deck's clear, sir," Twinam called out.

"The rear's secure," Collishaw chimed in.

The trio finally reached their objective, only for Apollo to discover that the key pad which gave access to the locker was dead. On a whim, he tried the hatch: it was unlocked. Silently signaling the two marines to cover him, Apollo yanked it open. A shadowy figure was kneeling on the floor at the extreme rear of the chamber.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! I'm human!"

"Jammer?" Apollo recognized the knuckle-dragger's voice, but he couldn't figure out how Specialist James Lyman had managed to enter a weapons locker without the proper access codes.

"Yes, sir, it's me … Jammer. Don't shoot, please!"

"Collishaw, watch the hatch! Twinam, find those explosive rounds. Jammer, what the hell happened here?"

"I don't know, sir. I just came in here to hide. The Cylons are everywhere!"

"It's all right, Jammer, just settle down … okay? Just settle down. You're gonna be fine."

"Excuse me, Captain," Private Twinam interrupted, "but this is all that I've been able to find." She was holding up a box; it contained six explosive rounds.

"You're kidding me? _That's it?_"

"Sir, we didn't have much of this ordnance to begin with. The other fire teams must have cleaned the locker out."

"Six rounds … and four of us. Okay," Apollo mused, "Twinam, you and I will take the spares…"

"Wait," Jammer protested, "you're not counting on me, are you sir? I mean, I'm just … I mean, I'm just a knuckle-dragger, sir. I don't know how to fight centurions. I don't know the first thing about fighting centurions!"

"Jammer," Apollo replied, "we're all making it up as we go along. You'll be fine … come on, let's go."

"Let's do it," Collishaw contributed. Colonial marines _never_ backed down from a fight.

. . .

"Lieutenant Burrell … how far to sickbay?"

"Best guess, Madame President? About sixty meters."

A sudden burst of gunfire brutally shattered the eerie quiet that had enveloped them since leaving the brig.

Private Ezra Bonnington was crouched on the floor, peering around the next turn in the corridor. He abruptly pulled back, and held up two fingers. _Cylons. A pair of centurions!_

Lieutenant Burrell … Corporal Venner, we need an alternate route to sickbay." President Roslin made a concerted effort to appear calm. "Both of you, look at me! Captain Apollo said that we don't want to walk into gunfire. We want to go away from the Cylons. So, what are our options?"

The two marines exchanged glances. "We can go … uh … we can go all the way on the starboard side. But it's a lot farther," Venner suggested.

"Good," Roslin said decisively, "starboard it is. Let's go!"

. . .

"Kat, do you know where to find Aft Damage Control?"

"Yeah," Louanne Katraine countered, "it's on twelve, somewhere around frame eighty-five … maybe ninety."

"Good," Starbuck said, "then you know more than I do! Kat, I want you and Creusa to take a squad and get your asses to ADC right frakking now. Reinforce … relieve … whatever … just don't let the Cylons reach the depressurization safeties or we are all dead. Now move!"

"Hot Dog," Starbuck continued, "you're with me."

The two pilots sat off in the direction of the CIC. Normally, it took about four minutes to reach the Combat Information Center from the port hangar bay, but Kara Thrace reckoned that, today, it was going to take a hell of a lot longer. She was expecting to find a lot of dead bodies along the way.

As the two officers advanced, the squad of ten centurions fell into formation, forming a solid phalanx around the Second Born and her human friend. Lieutenant Brendan Costanza could only shake his head. It had to be a dream, he thought, or maybe he was just plain drunk and hallucinating. But Hot Dog was convinced that one of the nice things about dreams was that a guy didn't have to hold anything back. _Hey, if it's my dream, then anything goes!_

"So … uh … Starbuck—are you a Cylon?"

Kara Thrace cast a quick glance in Hot Dog's direction, and then she chuckled mirthlessly. "No, Lieutenant," she replied, "the truth is somewhat more complicated than that!"

Starbuck and Hot Dog walked deeper into the ship, and with each turn and twist of the corridor, the echo of gunfire grew louder. In turn, the ten centurions tightened the cordon around their precious charge. Neither humans nor human form Cylons would ever appreciate how deeply religious the centurions really were. The sacred scrolls were their gospel, and the prophecies of The Final Days held out the hope of their deliverance. They understood all too well that Kara Thrace was the harbinger of death … but not for them … _not for them_.

"But these centurions," Brendan Costanza objected, "they really seem to be attached to you!"

"Yes, Hot Dog, they are." There were no words, Starbuck realized, that would easily allow her to convey the truth. "But, you see, in a very real sense … they're my brothers."

. . .

"DRADIS contact," Felix Gaeta called out. "One … no … make that two Cylon baseships, bearing 384, carom 17, distance … 25 MU's."

"Shelly," Adama commanded, "please confirm the fleet's emergency jump coordinates, and forward them to your sister. It's time for all of us to get out of here!"

Shelly Godfrey double-checked her calculations, and then contacted the baseship. Moments later, the two vessels jumped. . . .

"DRADIS," Gaeta shouted. "Multiple DRADIS contacts." Gaeta turned away from the screen so that he could formally address the commander. "It's the fleet, sir!"

"The Cylon baseship has just emerged from jump," Shelly advised.

"Dee," Adama ordered, "put me on fleet wide. . . ."

"_Galactica_ to all ships, this is Commander Adama. We have been boarded by a Cylon raiding party. Do not approach or attempt to dock with _Galactica_ until we have secured the ship. The Cylon baseship on your DRADIS is a friendly. I say again, there are colonial officers on board the Cylon baseship. . . ."

"Dee, contact the _Virgon Express_. Find out if Lydia Janks has worked up another set of emergency jump coordinates. If she has them in place, make sure that the baseship is updated."

. . .

"Combat, 12-8642. Small arms locker. Apollo here."

"Commander," Captain Aaron Kelly reported, "I have Apollo on the line. He's on deck twelve, aft frame eighty-six. Sir, he's between the Cylons and Aft Damage Control."

"Apollo, sitrep," his father demanded.

"Dad, I have four armed effectives. We haven't seen anything but bodies between here and the hangar deck."

"Lee, do you have any marines with you?"

"Affirmative … privates Twinam and Collishaw."

"Good. Take your team and proceed without delay to Aft Damage Control. Kat and a Six are en route, and they have a full squad of centurions at their back. Son, you have to hold until they reach you. No matter what it takes, you cannot allow the Cylons to reach the decompression safeties."

"Dad, what the hell is going on? Are you ordering me to fight _with centurions_?"

"Lee, we don't have much time, but the long and short of it is that Kara … Starbuck and Ghostrider are both part Cylon. The revelation has started a civil war in their ranks. You can trust the Six who's reinforcing you … if it comes to it, you can trust her with your life."

"_Kara's a Cylon?"_

"No, Lee … a hybrid. Her father was human, her mother a Six. I'm told that Shelly could be her mother, the resemblance is that close. . . ."

Adama paused; he could well imagine what was going through his son's head at that moment.

"Son, don't lose focus. You can deal with your personal feelings later. Right now, you have to defend Aft Damage Control or the ship will be lost. You can't let that happen … somehow, I get the impression that Starbuck is destined for greater things."

"Roger, dad. Aft Damage Control. RFN. We're on our way. Apollo out."

. . .

"Is it stuck?" Terry Burrell reckoned that they were now within twenty meters of sickbay, but his party was stymied. They were standing outside a hatch, and Bonnington couldn't budge it.

"No, frak! The hatch won't open because the other side's been depressurized." Bonnington slammed his hand against the cold metal surface, venting his frustration.

"Never mind," Laura Roslin sighed, "we just have to make another detour. Lieutenant, this is your ship; I'm just a tourist. Please find us another way to sickbay."

"From here, Madame President, the only thing that I can think of is … we head toward Aft Damage Control and then double back."

"Aft Damage Control?" Laura Roslin mentally replayed the conversation in the brig. "Lieutenant, wasn't Captain Apollo heading off to defend Aft Damage Control against a Cylon assault?"

"Yes, Ma'am, but we don't have to go all the way to the ADC. We just need to get to a connecting corridor that will take us to Causeway Bravo. Then we double back to sickbay."

"Very well, Lieutenant, we'll do it your way. Lead on."

. . .

The unlikely quartet had finally reached Aft Damage Control, and now they were frantically stacking crates not only for their own protection but also to create firing lanes. With only six explosive rounds between them, Apollo had long since concluded that they were going to have to make every shot count. That meant head shots, and long odds. Anything that they could do to slow the toasters down, force them into a predictable pattern, improved those odds.

Apollo examined the setup. It wasn't ideal, but it was the best that they could do on short notice.

"Okay, everybody find a spot … settle in … get comfortable. They're coming … they're coming."

There was an explosion of gunfire immediately beyond the hatchway. The centurions couldn't be thirty meters away!

"Steady up there, Jammer!"

Apollo patted the young knuckle-dragger on the shoulder, tried to calm him down. The specialist was giving new meaning to the expression "bundle of nerves."

"Yes, sir. I'm … uh … not really cut out for this, sir!"

"That makes two of us, Jammer. But sometimes you've got to roll a hard six."

"What … what does that mean, sir?"

"Hell if I know. It's something my dad says. Just don't shoot until I tell you … all right?"

Lee hoped that he sounded more reassuring than he felt. If there were more than a half dozen centurions out there, they were dead. He glanced at Collishaw and Twinam. The two marines had taken decent cover, and they had both adopted one of the classic shooter's positions.

"Okay … okay, we're in good shape," Lee muttered. "They're coming, but we're in good shape. Head shot … reload … head shot … reload." Beyond the hatchway, the gunfire had blurred into a single, all-encompassing wall of noise. _That must be one hell of a firefight_, Lee thought. _Somebody's giving the toasters a really good run for their cubits!_

. . .

"Take cover," Bonnington screamed. "Take cover!"

The private was on point, and he had just stuck his head around the corner to survey Causeway Bravo. Unfortunately, a centurion was standing silently less than five meters away, and its lone red eye locked onto the colonial marine. He ducked back around the corner just in time to avoid the cascade of high caliber rounds that the toaster unloosed in his direction.

Lieutenant Terry Burrell didn't know whether they had time to retreat back down the cross-corridor or not, but he wasn't about to take any chances with the President's life. Burrell spun her around, pushed her to the floor, and dropped on top of her. Bonnington slid to the floor on his left, and was already rolling to bring his assault rifle to bear when Corporal Venner dropped to one knee directly in front of Laura Roslin.

The centurion rounded the corner, and Bonnington and Venner promptly opened fire, but their conventional ordnance had absolutely no effect on the mechanical monster. The machine raised its left arm and was about to return fire when its head suddenly exploded in a shower of sparks. A couple of seconds later, a blond woman clad in a black flight suit came into view.

Creusa took in the situation at a glance. "Is everybody all right?" She had to shout to be heard over the cacophony of gunfire erupting behind her.

"Madame President," Lieutenant Burrell asked, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Lieutenant, thank you."

Creusa looked at the President of the Twelve Colonies in surprise. Laura Roslin was the last person she expected to find dueling with centurions!

"Madame President," the tall Six calmly stated as she quickly loaded another explosive round, "our centurions should have the situation under control very shortly. You should be safe if you remain here."

Without waiting for a reply, the blond Cylon vanished around the corner, returning to the death struggle that was raging only a few meters away. The centurions had closed to such close quarters that several of them were now locked in hand-to-hand combat.

. . .

The hatch burst open, and the centurions came pouring through.

"Okay, they're coming," Lee yelled. "Everybody down!"

But to his amazement, the centurions_ weren't_ coming! They were still firing into the hatchway behind them!

And then a second group of centurions crashed into the corridor, and even at a distance Apollo could see that their torsos were emblazoned with a bright stripe of red paint.

"Wait," Apollo screamed. "Hold your fire! Hold your fire! Hold your fire!"

Ducking low, Louanne Katraine crossed the threshold, her weapon at the ready. As Apollo watched, his fellow Viper pilot lined up a target and took her shot. A centurion's head blew up in a ball of flame.

One of the big, blond Sixes was hard on her heels, her head snapping from side to side, searching out additional targets.

Four centurions broke away, and rushed down the corridor toward Aft Damage Control. The Six drew a bead, fired, and one of their heads exploded. But a second later, a round lifted her off her feet; a fine mist of blood remaining in the air even as the Six crashed to the floor.

"Fire!" Apollo didn't have to give the order twice.

Four explosive rounds leapt out, and two of the centurions were instantly reduced to shrapnel that went flying all over the companionway. But the third toaster was returning fire as it continued rapidly to advance, and its deadly rounds hit home, claiming first Collishaw and then Twinam.

Kat and Apollo were both reloading, but Kat and her mechanical troopers were still caught up in a full-scale brawl at the opposite end of the corridor. Apollo looked up, and fired on instinct as the surviving centurion jumped over him. The round struck the behemoth in what passed for its jaw, and its entire upper body disintegrated as it flew past. The decapitated centurion slid to a rest on the floor immediately in front of the entrance to Aft Damage Control. As suddenly as it had begun, on their end of the corridor the firefight was over.

"Stay there," Apollo yelled at Jammer. He picked up Twinam's pistol, checked the load, and then raced in Kat's direction. The two pilots picked off another pair of centurions, and with the weight of numbers finally working to their advantage, the red stripes quickly destroyed the last of their enslaved counterparts.

"We did it! We got them all!" Jammer was awash with adrenaline, caught up in an after action high. He was all but dancing over the bodies of the fallen. "They don't look so big now, do they?"

Apollo walked back and knelt over the two marines, checking for a pulse. He shook his head in regret. "They look big enough," he softly replied, "they look big enough."

Kat was on her hands and knees, crawling toward the Six. Apollo spotted her, got up, and strode down the corridor. "Kat, are you okay?"

"Yes, sir, but we need a medic. Creusa's down!"

"Jammer! Find me a med kit RFN! Kat, there's a telephone down the corridor, in the small arms locker. Get a hold of CIC, and let them know that Aft Damage Control is secure. And yeah, tell them to send a med team stat!"

Lee Adama got down on his hands and knees beside the Six. She was staring fixedly at the ceiling, and her blouse was covered in blood. She appeared to have taken a single round in the lower reaches of her chest.

"Hey! Look at me! Look at me!" Apollo reached out and gently turned Creusa's head. He found himself staring down into intensely blue eyes. And he found himself thanking the gods that they were alert.

"Stay with me, okay? Don't go away."

"Captain Apollo," Creusa whispered, "the god who is the son of a god." She coughed, and winced with pain. _"Double frak,"_ she exclaimed.

Lee Adama looked at the beautiful blond Cylon for a couple of seconds, and then he began to shake with laughter. _"Double frak? You Cylons say 'double frak'?"_

Creusa smiled as she reached up to grasp the back of Apollo's neck, pulling him closer. "I just made it up," she admitted. She studied his face.

Jammer ran up with a med kit. Apollo ripped the lid off the box, grabbed a handful of gauze padding and pressure bandages, and began to field dress her wound. Creusa lay quiet, waiting for him to finish.

"I like your eyes," she confessed. Then she pulled her young god closer still, and kissed him.

_Strawberries … she tastes like strawberries!_ Apollo was startled, but not for long. Lee Adama liked the taste of strawberries. He kissed her in return, tentatively at first, but when she didn't complain he kissed her a second time. He found that he quite liked kissing her. In fact, he mentally conceded, it could get to be downright habit forming.

. . .

The companionway had been reduced to a charnel pit, and the closer they drew to the CIC, the more convinced Kara Thrace became that they were approaching the entrance to Hell. The gunfire steadily increased in volume, and the body count steadily rose. There were far too many humans in the mix, and far too few toasters.

Before they rounded the last corner, the centurions rearranged themselves, pushing Kara and Hot Dog to the rear of their impromptu formation. And then they attacked. They had trapped six of their mechanical brothers in the small space between themselves and the makeshift barricade that the marines had thrown up, and once they acquired their targets they opened fire without hesitation. Four of the slave troops were cut down in the initial barrage, but two survived, to charge the barricade. One was shredded by a hail of explosive rounds, but the other breached the barrier and charged into the CIC.

. . .

Commander William Adama had long since ordered his staff to take such cover as they could find, but Adama, Tigh and Kelly were still at their posts, and Anastasia Dualla, Felix Gaeta and Shelly Godfrey had stubbornly refused to abandon the navigation and communications stations.

The centurion's malevolent red eye fastened upon Bill and Saul, but incredibly, it chose to ignore them. It was systematically scanning the room, clearly seeking one specific target. And William Adama knew exactly whom it had come to kill.

He could hear himself yelling out her name, screaming at her to get down, but Shelly Godfrey stood frozen in front of the navigation console. The centurion was scanning left, not right; it had not yet found her, but it was only a matter of time.

The commander wanted to run, but it felt as if he was trying to swim through a raging torrent. Time had slowed down to the point where it barely seemed to advance at all. He could see Shelly's head slowly turning towards him, the confused expression on her face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the centurion's head was turning, tracking him … and then it began to pivot, swinging to bring its cannons to bear.

Adama finally reached her, swept her into his arms, and used his momentum to carry her to the floor, his body shielding her own. As he fell the commander felt a terrible pain in his back … something had kicked him hard, not once but twice, and time abruptly reverted to normal.

He could hear screaming and loud gunfire, and then the gunfire stopped but the screaming continued. It took on shape and form. A woman's voice was screaming his name over and over again. Shelly's voice. He tried to smile because he knew that she was okay, and nothing else really mattered to him. But it was hard. Of a sudden he felt very, very cold, and inexplicably tired. He tried to get up, but nothing seemed to be working. Maybe it's time to rest, he thought, in those last microscopic moments before the darkness closed in all around and spirited him deep into its welcoming depths.


	4. Chapter 4: Welcome Back, Kara Thrace

CHAPTER 4

WELCOME BACK, KARA THRACE

"_Get out of the way! Make a hole! Gods, make a hole!"_ Kara Thrace was right behind the red striped centurions, and she was screaming at the few surviving marines to clear a path. In her entire life, she had rarely felt so helpless. They had managed to stop all but one of the hostile Cylons, but in the closed confines of the CIC, one would be more than enough.

The blood stained centurion who had become her personal bodyguard jumped over the barricade and plunged into the CIC in its wake. As she fought her way through the crates, Kara heard gunfire erupt just ahead of her, a single volley that ceased as abruptly as it had started. She could hear a woman screaming … _Shelly! Oh, gods, please, please don't let her be hurt!_ Then she heard Colonel Tigh yelling for medics, and barely repressed fear turned into full fledged panic.

Kara clawed her way into the CIC. Her protector was standing near the central console, looking down at the shattered remains of a former comrade in arms. Wisps of smoke were still rising from its cannons. Kara's eyes followed the sound of Shelly's screams, and unbidden her legs carried her to the navigation console. Shelly was on the floor, holding Adama in her arms, her hands pressed tightly against his back. Not tightly enough. Blood was leaking out between Shelly's fingers; it had already begun to pool on the floor.

"_Where are the medics?" _Saul Tigh was still yelling into the phone. "Where's Doc Cottle?"

"Sir," Aaron Kelly called out in an excited voice, "Kat reports Aft Damage Control secure! But they need medics!"

"Did you hear that, sickbay? We need medics right frakking now," an exasperated Tigh growled. "The CIC and Aft Damage Control both, so move it!"

Kara dropped to the floor beside Shelly and the commander. Shelly's screams had faded to a muted whisper; she was crying now, babbling Bill's name, the sound a mix of resignation and fear. Not knowing what else to do, Kara added her hands to Shelly's; she pressed down hard, desperately trying to staunch the flow of blood.

It seemed an eternity before Kara heard the sound of Layne Ishay's voice out in the corridor. The paramedic was shouting at everyone to get out of the way. . . .

"Lieutenant Thrace, you need to stand clear," Ishay ordered.

Starbuck scrambled out of the way, to be instantly replaced by Sergeant Omar Fischer, a hulking marine NCO. Fischer hastily wrapped a pressure cuff around Adama's left arm.

"Sergeant, do we have pressure?" Ishay was trying to remove Shelly's hands from the commander's back, but she was failing miserably.

"Yeah … yeah, there's pressure."

"You're sure?" Kara didn't recognize the young male nurse to Ishay's right.

"Pressure? Yeah, we have pressure."

"Miss Godfrey," Ishay said, "can you hear me?" The paramedic slapped the Cylon lightly on the cheek; Ishay thought that she might well be in shock. "Shelly, I need you to let go. We can't help Commander Adama if you don't let go!"

Shelly's eyes located Layne Ishay, and finally seemed to focus. "The centurion," she said, "the centurion can lift Bill more easily than you can."

"That's a good idea," Ishay conceded. She looked over at Kara Thrace.

"Lieutenant, can you get your toaster friend to help us? We need to get the commander onto the gurney, but gently … gently."

No words passed between Starbuck and her mute metallic bodyguard. She merely looked at the centurion, and then turned her head to look meaningfully at Adama. Without hesitation, the machine bent over the commander, unsheathed its long, graceful talons, and slid them under his body. The centurion lifted Adama's unconscious form with surprising gentleness, and effortlessly eased him onto the stretcher.

"Okay," Ishay muttered as she examined Adama's wounds, "I need pressure bandages. We need to stop the bleeding, and then we're going to get him to sickbay ASAP."

Kara Thrace crawled back to Shelly's side. She was frantic with worry.

"Mom, are you okay? Have you been shot?" Shelly Godfrey was an exact copy of the birth mother whose image Kara Thrace had now locked away in her memory. Not a close copy … _an exact copy_. The two Sixes easily blurred together in Kara's mind, but in the world of Cylon psychology the difference was pretty much academic anyway.

Kara rapidly ran her hands over Shelly's body. Her clothing was bloodstained, but Kara couldn't find a wound. Finally, she encouraged the Cylon to sit up, and then helped her to her feet.

The two women stared at one another for a long moment, and then they embraced. Kara buried her head in the taller woman's shoulder. "Gods, but it's good to see you," she murmured. "It's so gods damned good!"

"Kara," Shelly sighed. She rested her cheek in Starbuck's hair, and clutched her tight. "Our daughter," she sniffled, "our little girl." Shelly started sobbing. "Kara," she cried in a small and lost voice, "I'm the one who should be lying there. Bill … he took the bullets that were meant for me. . . ."

"They were meant for me," she repeated, the tears trickling down her face as she looked at his still form lying on the gurney.

Colonel Tigh walked over and took in the scene. _So Starbuck's a Cylon brat … that explains a lot of things._

"I hate to interrupt this touching family reunion," he caustically remarked, "but I need both of you to get your heads in the frakkin' game! Starbuck, the marines have taken heavy casualties, and there are still Cylons crawling all over the lower decks. I need two of your centurions to secure sickbay, and I want you and your metal pal here to get your Cylon asses down to the laundry room. There's a centurion dug in there, and Lieutenant Wallace doesn't have the resources to dig him out. Take care of the problem, and then sweep the lower decks. This ship will remain off limits to the rest of the fleet until it's been completely secured, you got that?"

"Yes, sir; I'll take care of it."

Behind him, Saul Tigh heard Layne Ishay tell someone to make a hole. He looked Shelly Godfrey up and down; she was a puzzle, and Tigh wasn't about to pretend that he had the key.

"And you," he said to Shelly. "The Gods only know why, but that man clearly loves you more than life itself. So you get yourself down to sickbay and you stay there. You hold his hand, you keep telling him how much you love him … I don't care what … but you give him a reason to suck down that next breath. Just so we're clear—this ship will be Bill Adama's command till the day he dies, and _you_ are not going to let that happen. Am I getting through to you, lady?

"Yes, Colonel … and thank you, sir."

The two women hastened from the CIC.

. . .

A doctor might have said that _Galactica's_ sickbay looked like the emergency ward of a Caprica City hospital late on a Saturday night, but to Lee Adama the only word that came immediately to mind was bedlam. A dozen gurneys and stretchers were parked haphazardly in the adjoining corridor, and every bed in sickbay itself already seemed to be occupied. Nurses and paramedics were scampering about, but if there was anyone in charge it was by no means obvious.

The two medics who had wheeled Creusa into sickbay had already abandoned them, their services urgently needed elsewhere. Apollo had been given no instructions, no advice of any kind, so he decided to take the bull by the horns. He would simply grab the first person he saw in a white lab coat. That person turned out to be Simon O'Neill.

"Hey, doc …" Apollo stopped in mid-sentence as he belatedly recognized the lanky Cylon. The irony of asking a Cylon medic to treat a wounded Cylon warrior on a colonial battlestar was not lost on him. "Doc, we could use a little help here. Creusa was wounded in a firefight with a bunch of centurions. . . ."

"The centurions lost," the blond Cylon added tartly.

"Captain, look around you." Simon gestured expansively around the sickbay. "_Everybody_ in here was wounded in a firefight with the centurions."

"That may well be, doc," Apollo impatiently replied, "but not _everybody_ in here saved the ship in the process. She did." Apollo reached out and took Creusa's hand. "So, we owe her. And besides … it's not good politics to ignore the wounded leader of a new and potentially valuable ally."

"Let me get this straight, Captain … you want me to move her ahead of all these people, even the critically wounded?" Simon O'Neill was incredulous.

Lee stared silently at the Cylon, who threw his hands in the air in a very human gesture of capitulation. He strode to the foot of the gurney, wrote the word CYLON in bold letters on a chart that he found there, and then returned to shine a bright light in Creusa's eyes.

"She has good pupillary response," he observed. "Six, are you in any pain?"

"Breathing's a bitch," Creusa curtly remarked in a low, strained voice.

"Are you experiencing short but intense stabbing pains?"

"Well done, Four! What's the diagnosis?"

"The bullet has probably shattered a rib, but we'll need X-rays to see if there's any other meaningful damage. Captain, the X-ray department is directly behind you. Wheel her over there, and instruct whoever's in charge to expedite on my authority. The technicians will know what to do, but make sure that the film gets attached to this chart, and that the chart stays with her at all times. Do you know how to apply and read a pressure cuff?"

"Sure," Apollo said. "It's part of every pilot's emergency medical training."

"Good. After X-rays, get a pressure reading, and record it on the chart, along with the date and time. If the result falls below 80/50, you come get me stat. Otherwise, take a new reading every thirty minutes until someone comes for her. Captain, please keep in mind that she's cylon, and that Cylons do not bruise easily. I don't think she's critical, so you will have to be patient. We're short staffed, and there are a lot of badly injured people here." With that, Simon turned and hurried off.

Lee wasted no time getting the gurney to X-ray, where he insisted on helping to ease her onto the table. When they were finished and Creusa was back on the gurney, he left her only long enough to locate a pressure cuff. He was taking his first reading when the Cylon reached out and took hold of his arm. Once again, she studied him with those intense, blue eyes.

"Captain Apollo," Creusa said in a throaty whisper, "thank you for taking such good care of me. Anyone watching us might conclude that you are genuinely concerned for my well being."

Lee met the Cylon's gaze with a tentative half-smile. All sorts of sensations were at war with one another inside his body.

"They wouldn't be wrong," Apollo admitted in an equally low voice. "They definitely wouldn't be wrong."

. . .

Theoretically, the Six with no name conceded, there had to be something in the universe more surreal than being trapped in the laundry room of the battlestar _Galactica_ by a legless centurion with a seemingly infinite supply of ammunition, but at the moment she was hard pressed to imagine what it could possibly be. Her present situation was ridiculous. She couldn't advance and she couldn't retreat, and she didn't even want to think about what would transpire when she had to attend to one of those annoying body functions for which humans demanded such absolute privacy.

Well, she wouldn't let it come to that, Six vowed. If it came to a choice between sitting in a puddle of her own piss or tossing a fragmentation grenade into the rear of the laundry room, the crew would just have to wear dirty uniforms for a couple of weeks. She was about to encourage Lieutenant Jeremy Wallace to go find a few grenades when the universe perversely chose to take that distinctly more surreal turn. Six was instantly convinced that it had done so just to spite her. She found herself staring at Kara Thrace, which she could handle, and at a half dozen or more centurions trailing in her wake, which she could not. Six blinked several times, her expression registering complete disbelief. Starbuck had a huge grin on her face, and she was waving. She was actually waving!

No one had got around to informing poor Six that the war had indeed charted a new and very strange course.

"Six," Starbuck asked, "will a concussion grenade incapacitate our misguided friend in there?"

"Momentarily," Six promptly responded.

"How many moments are there in 'momentarily'?"

Six thought about it. "Disorientation? Three seconds, tops. Then another two seconds to reacquire its targeting prompts. Whatever you're planning, Lieutenant, you have four to five seconds … not one second more."

_Damn! Six seconds would be nice._ Kara turned to address her robotic bodyguard.

"Have you tried reasoning with it?"

The bloodied machine responded by holding out one metallic digit. _Yes._

"Any luck?"

Two metallic digits. _No._ The centurion then extended its middle digit, and pointed it at the ceiling.

"It told you to get frakked?"

One digit. _Yes._

"Oh, this one is definitely worth saving," Kara laughed. "You gotta love a machine with a bad attitude!"

"Six," Kara continued, "we need a distraction. Can you crawl around to its left and make some noise? Get it to shift its attention in your direction?"

"Would you like me to stand up and dance? That should get its attention. Of course, _it would also get me killed_!"

Kara rolled her eyes. "Come on, Six, don't be so melodramatic. Just buy me an extra second or two, okay? Here, this should help. It has a full load."

Starbuck slid her sidearm across the floor, and pulled out a concussion grenade. While the Six with no name was crawling into position, Kara held up her free hand to her metallic guardian angel. She was holding a small screwdriver.

"I'll be right behind you," she said. "Sit on it, stand on it, whatever … just buy me time to pop the inhibitor."

A volley of small arms fire erupted inside the laundry room, followed instantly by the deeper roar of the centurion's cannons. That was Kara's cue. She pulled the pin on the grenade and as she rushed into the room threw it in the damaged machine's general direction. She hurled herself to the floor and covered her ears, but the last echoes of the blast had not yet died away when she was back on her feet. Her centurion had already swept past, leaving Kara to bring up the rear.

Three seconds later, Kara's protector threw itself across the hostile centurion's torso, pinning both it and its cannons to the floor. The enraged machine reflexively fired off another volley, which reduced one of _Galactica's_ industrial sized washers to scrap. It did not stop firing until Kara had prized loose the telencephalic inhibitor. The two centurions then rapidly conversed, after which Starbuck's bodyguard climbed back to its feet.

"Okay," Starbuck shouted, "we're clear."

As the Six hesitantly approached, Kara turned to face her. The hybrid child might have taken after Shelly Godfrey physically, but Starbuck and the Six with no name were kindred spirits. Kara's affection for this particular mom and her notoriously anti-authoritarian attitude was written all over her face.

"Starbuck?" The Six's voice betrayed her uncertainty.

The Second Born favored her with a cheeky grin. "Hey, Six," she said, "let me bring you up to speed. It turns out that I have a really colorful family background! My dad was human, but my mom was cylon … a Six! Can you believe it? We're related!"

The Six stared at Kara Thrace, the revelation filling her with wonder.

"Our daughter … you're _our daughter_?"

The Six with no name got no further. Lieutenant Wallace had joined them, and he was sporting a cheeky grin of his own. "There, now, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" Wallace was about to say something more when he was rudely interrupted.

Kara Thrace barely beat the Six with no name to the punch.

. . .

Sergeant Omar Fischer wheeled the unconscious Commander Adama directly into one of _Galactica's_ two surgical theaters, and with the help of a pair of male nurses, carefully transferred him to an operating table. Shelly Godfrey was about to enter the surgical ward when she looked down the companionway and spotted Apollo standing over another gurney a short distance away.

"Lee?"

Apollo glanced up, to see his father's Cylon girlfriend walking towards him with a pair of centurions at her back. There was blood all over her, and Lee's first panicked thought was that she must have been wounded in one of the many firefights that had broken out across the ship.

Lee Adama's feelings for Shelly Godfrey were ambiguous in the extreme. He had long since accepted her as a genuine defector: if she had wanted to kill his father or harm the fleet in any way, she had passed on dozens of opportunities to do so. He knew that Kara Thrace had taken the Cylon under her wing, and Starbuck's instincts were not to be dismissed lightly. In Apollo's mind, however, Shelly's chief recommendation was the simple, incontestable fact that she made his father happy. No one who saw the two of them together could miss this obvious truth, but Lee knew that he and Saul Tigh were the only two people to grasp what it actually meant. His parents' marriage had been a train wreck; even as a small child Lee had observed tensions that he could not understand, and he had quickly learned that as the oldest son he was an inviting target for his mother's deflected anger. In later years he had taken the full measure of his father's aloofness and connected it to his mother's growing dependence on alcohol. If the two of them had ever been happy, Lee Adama had no memory of it.

And now his father had found happiness … with a machine. Here lay the second, incontestable truth. A creature with silica pathways inside her brain had brought William Adama a measure of joy that he had never obtained from a relationship with a human woman. Lee didn't know whether Shelly's feelings for his father were authentic or the result of computer programming, but in the final analysis it didn't really matter. Shelly was cylon, and early on she had ceased pretending to be anything else. His father knew what she was, and he had nevertheless dropped his barriers and allowed her inside his heart. The two of them cared deeply for one another, and neither of them sought advantage from that fact. Lee secretly envied them the honesty and trust that defined every aspect of their relationship.

And now, standing at Creusa's side, solicitously holding her hand, Apollo could not help but ask himself whether he was truly his father's son. _We certainly share a passion for blonds,_ Apollo mused, _and both of us seem to have a problem connecting with women. I drove Gianne away the moment I discovered she was pregnant. Kara was a safe bet because she belonged to Zak. But after Zak's death, I turned on her, held her responsible so that I could keep my distance. Now I chew her out every chance I get before I go running off to Shevon. Yeah, Lee, face facts. You're so frakked up that you're drawn to a carbon copy of your future mother-in-law. You're drawn to a machine because she's safe … non-threatening, won't make emotional demands. And she's beautiful! Gods, but she's beautiful … every horny teenager's wet dream. I wonder what she's like in bed?_

"Shelly, are you all right? Have you been shot?" There was nothing feigned about the anxiety in Apollo's voice.

"Lee! No, I'm fine … but your father …" Shelly Godfrey trailed off as she saw awareness dawn in his eyes. She couldn't bear to tell him, and yet there was no one else to whom this task could fairly be delegated. She took a deep breath.

"Lee, a centurion made it to the CIC. It came for me, but your father shielded me, saved my life. Lee, he's been shot … your father's been shot."

"How bad?" Apollo reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Shelly, _how bad_?"

"It's bad, Lee … two bullets in the back. They're still lodged inside him."

"Doc Cottle … is Doc Cottle with him?"

Shelly sadly shook her head. "No, Major Cottle stayed with the fleet when we jumped to Kobol. My recommendation, Lee … your father was following my recommendation that we leave our only fully qualified surgeon with the civilians. I'm … I'm sorry."

Apollo took a deep breath of his own. "No, Shelly, don't apologize. That was a good call … a good call." A determined look came over his face. "Shelly, this is Creusa. Look after her for me, and at the first sign of trouble yell for help. I've gotta go!"

"Lee, wait! The centurions … Colonel Tigh wants the centurions to secure sickbay."

"One at each end of the corridor," Lee shouted in response. He raced into the surgical theater. . . .

"Well, this is awkward," Creusa quietly observed.

Shelly looked down at her sister, but said nothing in response.

"Last week the arch traitor … the most vilified copy in the entire collective." Creusa inhaled sharply, and shut her eyes for a long moment. "_Frak, but that hurts!"_

"Sister?"

The blond warrior quickly regained her composure. "But this week a heroine without peer … an inspiration to rebel Cylons everywhere." Creusa looked up at her sister with a malicious smile. "So, now you're off the hook … or at least Natalie and I are on it with you."

"Sister, you are being too hard on yourself," Shelly protested in reply. "The Ones have made fools of us all, and if I had remained on a baseship I would still be doing their bidding. I was one of the lucky ones. Being sent to live among humans opened my eyes. We can't evolve without humans to inspire us—that much is so obvious that I sometimes wonder whether the real purpose of this war was to keep us from evolving! Why didn't the Ones tell us that we can have children? Why didn't they tell us that our race need not forever remain enslaved to resurrection technology? The Cavils have known the truth," Shelly bitterly added, "for decades."

"And what else have you discovered, sister?" Creusa was genuinely curious. "Can we feel love? Have you fallen in love with Commander Adama?"

"Yes," Shelly confessed, "we are very much in love."

"Then I suppose that there's hope for us all."

"Certainly for you, sister," Shelly retorted. "I saw the way that Lee was looking at you … he was even holding your hand! How did you charm him so quickly?"

Creusa smiled. She was sorely tempted to say something glib. _Like father, like son? _Wisely, however, she opted to say nothing at all.

. . .

"Now let me get this straight," Gaius Baltar remarked, "you want me to assume the presidency?" Baltar was standing in the middle of Commander Adama's private quarters, but the only other person in the room was Colonel Saul Tigh.

"That is correct, Doctor. By law, the sitting vice-president takes office when the serving president dies, becomes incapacitated, resigns, or is removed from office."

"The way I hear it," Baltar countered, "Laura Roslin is neither dead nor incapacitated, and she has not tendered her resignation. It's my understanding that, acting on Commander Adama's orders, you stormed _Colonial One_ and arrested the President at gunpoint. Forgive me if I seem obtuse, Colonel, but I don't recall any language in the constitution that sanctions a coup d'etat."

Gaius Baltar's day had not improved upon his return to the _Galactica_. The occupants of the two Raptors were acutely aware of the fact that Heavy Raiders were breathing down their collective necks when they entered the starboard landing pod. Chinstrap and Swordsman had both piloted their ships to its far end, and upon completion of the jump they had immediately reentered space. Seconds later, a Cylon baseship had arrived on the scene, and shortly thereafter a pair of Heavy Raiders had departed for the battlestar. Obeying orders that came straight from the CIC, the two Raptor pilots had followed them into the landing bay. It was at this point that the Vice-President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol would have sworn that the entire universe had gone mad. He had exited his ship to find a deck hand busily painting red stripes on what appeared to be half the Cylon army. A Six who bore an eerie resemblance to Natasi had stared at him without recognition. Kara Thrace and two of the other pilots were wandering freely in and out of the centurions' ranks. For their part the metal monsters weren't shooting, disemboweling, dismembering or otherwise slaughtering the humans swirling around them. And in the end, when everyone else had left to do whatever it was that they were supposed to do, Vice-President Gaius Baltar had found himself summarily abandoned in the landing bay. Having to put up with still another insult to his dignity had further soured Baltar's already black mood. When two marines had finally shown up to escort him to Adama's quarters, the prickly Vice-President was primed for a nasty war of words. And _Galactica's_ besotted XO made for a juicy target.

"Laura Roslin," Tigh impatiently answered, "suborned mutiny aboard this ship. Her actions resulted in the loss of a military asset of incalculable value, and they jeopardized your life and that of everyone else trapped on Kobol. Most importantly, however, she violated a working agreement with the Old Man that she entered upon of her own free will. She was supposed to handle the civvies, and leave military affairs in the commander's hands."

"And would I be correct in assuming, Colonel, that the President considered her actions to be consistent with the requirements of her office?" The two marines who had escorted him to Adama's quarters had relished the opportunity to describe in lurid detail just how Laura Roslin had ended up in _Galactica's_ brig. Baltar suspected that they would be only too happy to toss him into the adjoining cell.

"Frankly, Mr. Vice-President, I don't have the slightest frakking idea what goes on in that woman's head. Nor do I particularly care. She went up against the Old Man and she lost."

"Well, Colonel Tigh, it may not matter to you, but it most certainly matters to me! Do you already have a cell with my name on it in your brig? Will you send in the marines to arrest me the first time that we fail to see eye to eye on a matter of policy? With all due respect, Colonel, this smells like a desperate attempt on your part to cover the commander's ass. You want me to legitimize what is clearly an illegal and unconstitutional act by assuming the presidency. Colonel, I'm a scientist, not a politician. I don't know the first thing about politics. But I'm not a fool, and I'm not especially fond of being treated like one. No, Colonel, I'm not going to indulge you. You and Adama got us into this mess, and it's your responsibility to clean it up. For what it's worth, I strongly recommend that you release the President and restore her to office immediately."

The Vice-President did not wait for a reply. Now that he had got in his licks, Gaius wanted to get as far away from the ill-tempered XO as he could, and do so in the shortest possible time. He had already been hauled off to the brig once, and he had absolutely no desire to repeat the experience.

. . .

"We've got tension pneumo; I'm going to stick him and release the pressure." Simon O'Neill looked up at Apollo. "Captain, you need to step back and give us room to work."

"Captain Adama, the commander's going to be okay," Ishay added. Reassuring distraught relatives had always been the toughest part of her job.

"Good," Simon observed several seconds later, "he's breathing on his own. Captain, your father is stable for the moment; why don't you stay with him while Ishay and I check on our other patients. And please don't worry, Captain; all of his vital signs are being monitored. The machines will let us know if his condition takes a turn for the worse."

The two paramedics resumed their hurried evaluation of the nearly two dozen wounded that had already been delivered to sickbay. Ishay twice paused only long enough to mark the foreheads of the injured marines with a large, black X. A third marine died right before her eyes. They would lose others, she knew, not because their wounds were untreatable but because _Galactica's_ medical department was severely understaffed.

Layne and Simon were about halfway through the grim business of determining who would live and who would die when Laura Roslin and her three marine guards caught up with them. The President instantly volunteered their services.

"Thank you, Madame President," the tall Cylon gratefully replied, "we can certainly use all the help that we can get. I would like each of these marines to pair off with one of our medics; that will give us three additional teams. We also have a wounded Cylon on our hands." Simon turned and pointed down the companionway, drawing her attention to Shelly Godfrey. "Captain Adama has informed me that she was instrumental in saving the ship. She is alert and appears to be stable, but a few warm words of appreciation from the President of the Colonies might lift her morale. Please keep in mind, Madame President, that she has never experienced an invasive medical procedure. Heretofore, Creusa would simply have been euthanized so that she could download into a new body."

"Mr. O'Neill, I'll do what I can to put her at ease," Laura promised. _And perhaps she'll be able to explain what she's doing here in the first place._

As Laura drew near, Shelly Godfrey turned to greet her. The Cylon entertained no illusions about the former schoolteacher's attitude toward "skin jobs," but this did not alter her conviction that the President's arrest was a serious blunder on Bill's part. The civilian populace simply would not appreciate the importance of the captured Raider, and few people even knew of the oral compact that divided authority over the fleet between the two leaders. Arrest and imprisonment would generate sympathy for Roslin, especially among people who disliked or distrusted the military, and this would strengthen her hand the next time that she clashed with the commander. Shelly was resolutely determined to protect Bill from the consequences of what he liked to describe as a "bad call," hence she had already decided to assume the role of peacemaker between the two feuding humans. Although she was careful not to reveal her feelings, therefore, inwardly Shelly was delighted to see that Laura Roslin was no longer in the brig.

"Madame President," Shelly said with a forced smile, "it's good to see you!"

"Thank you, Miss Godfrey … but … have you been injured?"

"No, Madame President." Shelly looked down at her suit, and visibly flinched as it finally dawned on her that she was covered with Adama's blood. "Commander Adama …"

"_What,"_ Roslin cut in, _"the commander's been shot? Is it serious?"_

Shelly bowed her head and meekly nodded. "He was protecting me," she whispered.

"Because he loves you," Roslin said, almost as an afterthought. Then she looked down at Creusa, and a look of startled recognition flashed across her face. _The Cylon who saved my life,_ Laura thought, as those terrifying moments in the corridor outside Aft Damage Control slowly paraded through her mind. _What in the name of the gods can I possibly say to her that won't sound banal and insincere?_ The President was in desperate need of inspiration.

"It's a very human thing, Miss Godfrey," she finally added, "to risk your life, even sacrifice it, for someone you love, or a cause you believe in." Laura Roslin was still looking directly at Creusa. "A very human thing … some would say that it's our noblest quality." The three women fell into an awkward silence.

"Why are you doing this, Shelly?" The President had never been able to make sense of the Cylon's actions, and now there was an entire baseship behaving in ways that defied understanding. "Major Bierns once told me what would happen if you resurrected, and it makes death seem like a kindness. Knowing the possible cost, why did the two of you turn your backs on your own kind?"

"For me, Madame President," Shelly replied, "it was simple. Being cylon wasn't enough … I wanted more. I still want more. As for my sister …" Shelly took Creusa's hand, encouraging her to speak.

"Three days ago, I was living in a fool's paradise." Creusa was characteristically blunt. "The Ones have spoon fed us lie after lie, and we swallowed every one of them whole. We engaged in genocide to avenge your cruel mistreatment of the centurions … and yet we somehow managed to overlook the inconvenient fact that we were no less guilty of enslaving them. Were it not for John and Kara …" Creusa was too disgusted to continue.

"I'm sorry," Roslin said, "but you've lost me. Who is John, and what does Kara Thrace have to do with all of this?"

"_You don't know?"_ Shelly Godfrey was thunderstruck, but the baffled expression on Laura Roslin's face made it quite clear that the President wasn't being coy.

"Madame President," Creusa quietly interjected, "you know them as John Bierns and Kara Thrace, but we think of them as the First and Second Born … the first Cylon-human hybrids. . . ."

"In our prophecies," Shelly went on, "they are also known as the Deliverer and the Guide … angels who, in our darkest hour, would lead us to our new home … grant us a new beginning. But we misunderstood the prophecies. We thought that they applied to Cylons alone, but clearly we were wrong. Clearly, we are supposed to go to Earth _together_."

"_Children?"_ Now it was Laura Roslin's turn to be taken aback. _"Humans and Cylons can have children?"_

"Yes, Madame President," Creusa confirmed. "There is an Eight on our baseship who is in the early stages of pregnancy. Sharon and her mate—a _Galactica_ officer, Lieutenant Karl Agathon—happened to be in the Delphi museum at the same time as Kara and Leoben. They decided to join us rather than take their chances on the surface of Caprica. Once Sharon gives birth, each of the female models will have delivered a child into the world."

"My gods," the President murmured, "Major Bierns and Lieutenant Thrace are _hybrids_! That's … well, that's simply beyond belief!"

"Madame President, I firmly believe that this is what our creators had in mind for us." The fervor in Shelly's eyes matched the conviction in her voice—she had not disagreed with a single thing that Natalie had told her over the phone. "They denied us the ability to have children among ourselves, but enabled us to have children with humans. This cannot be coincidence. Our creators wanted Cylons and humans to live together in peace, not destroy one another in endless war. The Cavils have hijacked our future … both of our futures. But they're not going to get away with it. What we're fighting for, Madame President … I guess … I guess that what we're fighting for is our birthright. We don't seek power or wealth … these things mean nothing to us. All we ask is that you give us a chance to grow, to develop … as individuals and as a species. That's all … really, that's all we ask. We can be so much more than we are today … if you'll just give us the chance."

It was very much to Laura Roslin's credit that her response to so heartfelt an admission was neither hasty nor flip. She took the time to think it through. She still wasn't prepared to accept everything that Shelly Godfrey had to say at face value, but she also readily conceded that the ship would have been lost without the intervention of these rebel Cylons. Only time would tell whether Shelly's noble words masked a hidden agenda, but for the moment there was no denying the obvious: a divided enemy was a weakened enemy. It was, Roslin soberly concluded, very much in humanity's immediate interest to forge an alliance with the rebels, though how she was going to sell such an alliance to the Quorum was another matter altogether.

"It would seem," Roslin carefully and cautiously replied, "that our fates are intertwined … and it may well be that we have misinterpreted our sacred texts as well. Perhaps we are meant to take this journey together. I want you both to know that, if we are to become allies, I will do everything in my power to see to it that your people are treated fairly and with respect. I will not pretend to you that feelings in the fleet are going to change overnight, but you have certainly earned the chance that you seek, and in time you may break down the wall of hatred that now exists between us. For all of our sakes, I wish you well."

Laura reached out and took Shelly gently by the arm. "Miss Godfrey … Shelly … why don't you go and check on the commander? I'll stay here and watch over your sister."

"Thank you, Madame President. You're very kind." And with that, Shelly raced off.

The President turned to the wounded Cylon. "Creusa? You saved my life today … you saved a lot of lives. How can I ever thank you?"

Creusa managed a smile, although it took some effort. "Madame President, I am not as ambitious as my sister. At this point … well, it would be nice if people stopped calling us "skin jobs."

"That I may be able to arrange," Laura responded with a smile of her own, but it quickly faded. The blond Six's breathing had become noticeably more labored. "Creusa," Laura said in a voice tinged with alarm, "is there anything that I can do for you?"

"Madame President," Creusa grunted, "can you use a pressure cuff?"

"Yes."

"Please do so, and if it comes back less than 80/50 … call for help."

. . .

"How long till Doc Cottle's aboard?"

Layne Ishay posed the question, but it could just as easily have come from Simon O'Neill, Shelly Godfrey, or Lee Adama. They were all gathered around the unconscious figure of Bill Adama, and they were all thinking the same thing.

"I don't know," Saul Tigh replied, "but it's gonna be a while." The XO was staring blindly at the commander's inert form.

"Colonel," the normally taciturn Simon O'Neill remarked, "he doesn't have much time."

"Now listen, all of you." The XO's demeanor was calm, but there was more than a hint of impatience in his tone. "We have not yet accounted for all of the centurions who boarded the ship, and the marines are still actively engaged with the enemy on the lower decks. Standard Operating Procedure requires _Galactica_ to remain off limits to all other vessels until we have the situation completely under control. Not partially under control … _completely under control_! So the two of you are gonna have to go in yourselves." Tigh was looking pointedly at Layne and Simon.

"_Us?"_ The Cylon wondered if the XO had any idea what he was talking about. "Colonel, neither of us are qualified to practice surgery, and our experience is limited to assisting others. We're medics, Colonel Tigh, and medics are not surgeons!"

"Well, today," Saul countered, "both of you are full-fledged doctors."

A moment later, the transparent plastic curtains that isolated the surgical ward parted, and Laura Roslin charged in. She went directly to Simon O'Neill.

"Creusa's blood pressure has dropped," the President told him, "and she's spitting up blood. I think she's in trouble!"

"Sergeant Fischer," Ishay snapped, "get her in here now!"

. . .

"Now let me get this straight, Lieutenant," an incredulous Galen Tyrol replied, "_you _want _me_ to perform surgery on a Cylon centurion?"

"That's right, Chief," Kara Thrace agreed. "I want you to remove the legs from this chassis, and attach them to my mean tempered friend here." Kara pointed to the torso of the centurion that they had pulled out of the laundry room.

Chief Tyrol's day had been every bit as bad as Gaius Baltar's, but it was ending even worse. How, he wanted to know, could any sane person expect him to stop shooting toasters and start repairing them? And then he remembered that he was dealing with Kara Thrace. The Viper pilot had returned to the starboard hangar deck with a small army of red striped centurions at her beck and call. One of them was dragging the headless remains of a hostile centurion across the deck, while a second was carrying an enemy combatant that had lost its legs in a firefight. It was the latter that Kara Thrace had charged him to repair. The machine, Starbuck hastened to assure him, had switched sides.

Galen scratched his head. "Lieutenant, I don't suppose that this thing comes with a repair manual?"

Kara laughed derisively. "Come on, Chief, how hard can it be? You solder a few wires together, insert this male doohickey into that female thingy, and we're good to go!"

Starbuck turned to the Six with no name. The abrasive Cylon had all but glued herself to Kara's hip, so Starbuck figured that she might as well put her to work.

"Mom," Kara said sweetly, "can you help? Walk him through it … maybe give him a few pointers?"

"Sure," Six said.

"_Mom?"_ The chief looked back and forth between the two females. "What am I missing here?"

"Chief, I'm a half-breed," Kara giggled. "Daddy was human and mommy a Cylon … a Six, to be specific. But gods only know what my maternal grandparents looked like!"

Galen threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Fine … whatever. Let's get started."

The chief's reservations notwithstanding, the work went quickly. In the beginning the Six had to coach him, but Galen was surprised to discover that he had an intuitive feel for how the machine was constructed. It was almost as if he had worked on the metal monsters in some past life.

In no time at all, therefore, Kara Thrace and her assorted relations were heading for the lower decks. The hybrid child fervently hoped that their newest recruit would be able to persuade its brothers to cease fighting before anyone else got hurt. There was room in Starbuck's heart for everybody—humans, Cylons, hybrids, centurions … they were all family. Families might fight, but _this family_ had seen far too much of suffering and death. It was time for the healing to begin.


	5. Chapter 5: Smooth Operators

CHAPTER 5

SMOOTH OPERATORS

"The bullet may have nicked a lung," Simon noted as he examined Creusa's X-rays, "or we may be dealing with a bone fragment. Either way, we need to go in and fix the damage. Ishay, I would like you to take the lead."

"Me?" Layne looked at her colleague in surprise. "Simon, I don't know a thing about Cylon anatomy. Surely, you would be the more logical choice."

"Because I'm cylon?" The Four shook his head in denial. "Ishay, I have spent the whole of my medical career treating humans. I have no hands-on experience with my own kind … none at all. But Cylon physiology mimics human, so the procedure is reasonably straightforward—systematically remove the bone fragments, seal any ruptured blood vessels, and repair the damage to the inferior lobe of the right lung. I'll assist, but I want you to be the lead surgeon so that, if Commander Adama's condition suddenly worsens, I'll be free to open him up. There I am the logical choice simply because my hours in surgery are greater than your own."

Layne Ishay couldn't fault Simon's reasoning. She studied the X-rays closely, and then looked down at her sedated patient. She sighed inwardly. _Who would have ever guessed_, she thought, _that the first time I performed surgery it would be on a Cylon?_

"Well, then, get me a knife. . . ."

. . .

_Galactica_, Kara Thrace reflected, _is a big ship!_ Kara and Six were sweeping the lower decks, with a mixed team of marines and centurions lending support. Starbuck was embarrassed to admit that she had never been in this part of the ship before, and she had no idea what lurked behind the hatches that opened off the various companionways. Since the marines were no better informed, her team had to advance with due caution. Happily, however, most of the compartments that they cleared proved to be either empty or deserted. This inspired Kara to summon welders from Chief Tyrol's deck gang: sealing hatches shut would discourage any hostile centurions who slipped by them from taking refuge in space that they had already cleared.

Initially, her decision to repair the legless centurion had paid rich dividends. It had persuaded three of its metallic companions to change sides without shots being fired. Unfortunately, the fourth centurion that they encountered had refused all attempts to communicate, leaving Kara with no choice but to destroy it in a fusillade of explosive rounds. She suspected that the Cavils had caught on to John's tactics, and that they had accordingly built additional safeguards into the centurions' programming with the hope of preventing their loyalty from being subverted.

_Galactica_ was a big ship, so even with multiple fire teams in action, clearing the decks was going to be a tedious, time-consuming, and nerve-wracking process.

. . .

"His heart's stopped!"

Simon O'Neill could hear the note of panic in Sergeant Fischer's voice. He disliked abandoning Layne Ishay in the middle of what had turned out to be a delicate and therefore protracted operation, but he had no choice in the matter.

"Mr. Kim," he called out, "take my place. Sergeant, is the defibrillator fully charged?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then, everybody stand back." The Cylon medic stood over Adama, and hit him with the electrical charge. The commander's body jumped in response to the shock, but when it had settled back down, his heart was once again beating.

"All right, I'm going in. Sergeant, please continue monitoring the commander's vital signs. Miss Huzar, the instrument tray; Miss Callias, you're with me."

_Slowly declining BP … heart rate commensurately up … so, one of the rounds must have clipped the aorta._

"Claudia, I'll need an A.B.C., C.B.C., and coags. Elena, get set up for a rapid sequence intubation." Simon made his first incision. . . .

"3.7 mac. Gods, Howard, learn the instruments! I said a 3.7 mac."

"Sorry, Ishay," the young medic nervously replied.

"Okay … that's good. Now get some more suction in here so I can see what I'm doing." _What's causing the drop in blood pressure? The bullet was intact, and it didn't tumble. But we are dealing with the twelfth rib, and it's in a lot of pieces. Could one of them have damaged the hepatic artery? Let's take a look. . . ._

"His blood pressure's dropping," Fischer reported. It's down to 80/40."

"Arterial clamp … I said clamp!" Simon's arm was outstretched, but the arterial clamp had not yet materialized in his hand. He glanced at Claudia Huzar in irritation. _Doesn't anyone around here know the instruments?_ Simon was beginning to appreciate the challenges that Sherman Cottle had to overcome from one day to the next.

"Elena, I need more suction." _The aorta indeed. If I don't get this right, I'll lose him. . . ._

. . .

In the corridor, Shelly Godfrey, Laura Roslin, and Lee Adama stood silent vigil. All three were trying to follow both surgeries at once, but the snippets of medical jargon that they managed occasionally to overhear were in an arcane language that none of them could grasp. As the minutes slowly ticked away, all they could do was watch and wait, hope for the best, and pray to their various gods. The waiting was especially hard on Lee, for like his father, Apollo was an atheist. The comforting rituals of prayer could not shelter him from the anxiety that gnawed at the pit of his stomach, and somewhere along the way he had lost the capacity for hope.

Although he despised the man, Lee was accordingly relieved to see Saul Tigh rushing towards them, his face wearing its usual angry scowl. But Tigh stopped short when he saw Laura Roslin.

"Why aren't you in the brig?" The XO glanced around. "And where are the marines?"

"Off chasing Cylons," Apollo softly interposed. "At least, some of them are." He stared meaningfully at the gurneys scattered about the companionway; white sheets covered the faces of deceased marines to both his left and right. Lee still could not decide whether the two centurions now stationed at opposite ends of the corridor gave meaning to their sacrifice, or mocked it.

Tigh looked into the surgery, but there was no way to tell whether Bill was winning this battle, or losing it. "Any idea how it's going?"

Lee snorted. "No idea whatsoever."

"All right, Captain," Saul said with studied contempt, "as much as it pains me to do so, I'm restoring you to duty. If you can manage to avoid getting yourself shot between here and the landing bay, I want you to take a Raptor, go to the baseship, and brief whatever passes for leadership over there on our communication frequencies and protocols. Update our current situation, and check out the status of our pilots and their birds. We need to relieve the CAP, but I'm not sending out birds that are low on either ammo or fuel. And see what you can find out about their Raider and Heavy Raider complement; I don't know whether the Old Man wants to integrate the CAP or not, but we might as well find out where we stand. Any questions, Captain?"

"None, Colonel."

"Just so we're clear, Captain. I'm doing this out of necessity, not choice. As far as I'm concerned, you belong in the brig, and that's exactly where I expect to find you when you're not on duty."

"All right, Colonel," Apollo replied, "you have my parole. When I'm on duty I'll do my job, and I'll make no attempt to free the President or sow insurrection among the crew. And when I'm not on duty, save for visits to sickbay immediately before and after my shift, I'll report to the brig."

"You're wasting time, Captain."

Apollo shook his head in disgust. _Just walk away, Lee … just walk away. The less said here the better._

"Good hunting, Captain," Roslin called out as he headed for the hangar bay.

Lee paused in mid-stride, and looked back over his shoulder. "Thank you, _Madame President_."

Laura Roslin waited until Apollo was out of earshot before she confronted Tigh. "Colonel, I assume that you want me back in the brig as soon as possible?"

"That's right," Saul said. He wasn't sure how she had got out in the first place.

"Very well, Colonel … although I'm sure that at the moment he has more urgent matters to attend to, when Corporal Venner returns I'll nevertheless have him escort me back to my cell. Will that be satisfactory?" Laura's tone was excessively polite, but neither Tigh nor Shelly Godfrey missed the sarcasm that lay underneath.

The XO glared at Roslin, but he held his tongue. There was nothing to be gained by picking a fight with the ex-president. _It's best just to walk away._

"Colonel," Shelly asked, "may I walk with you? I'd like to speak with you … in private."

The two exited sickbay together, but as soon as they came upon an empty stretch of corridor, Tigh turned to face her. He could afford to dismiss Laura Roslin out of hand, but Shelly Godfrey was another matter altogether. He waited for her to speak.

"Colonel, the President has shown remarkably poor judgment, and Bill had good reason to remove her from office. But with the commander fighting for his life, I wonder if it's prudent to keep her locked up. As things now stand, you must appreciate how easily this could cause panic throughout the fleet, especially with a baseship sitting out there. Whether we like it or not, in my judgment our current situation requires a public display of unity between civilian and military authority. A stable government will encourage everyone to remain calm … and that includes the Cylons. Think about it, Colonel. The Cylons regard Roslin as the legitimate head of state, and they may refuse to negotiate with anyone else. In any event, airing our dirty laundry this way will only serve to weaken our bargaining position."

_This woman has a head on her shoulders,_ Tigh conceded, _and she's right on all counts. But it's not my call. All I can do is stall the damned toasters for as long as possible, and pray that Bill gets back on his feet in one big hurry. He'll decide what to do about Roslin, Lee, and the Cylons. Gods, Bill, don't you dare die on me now! I don't want a command. I never did._

"Thank you for your input, Miss Godfrey. I'll take your recommendation under advisement. Now, I suggest that you get back to sickbay, and that you offer up some prayers to that one true god of yours. I need to get back to the CIC."

After Shelly walked away, Tigh scanned the corridor. There was no one else about. He bent over and removed the flask from his right boot. The liquor burnt as it went down his throat, but the whiskey calmed his nerves. Gods, but he needed the lift. _Bill, you should never have brought me back in the service. If you'd just let me be, I'd have died back there on Caprica along with everyone else, and I'd have been the happier for it. Don't you dare die on me, Bill!_

. . .

"Baseship, this is Captain Adama. Requesting permission to land."

"Welcome, Apollo," an anonymous female voice responded. "We will send a Raider to guide you in."

Shortly thereafter, Lee parked his Raptor alongside the surviving Vipers from Kat's squadron. The few Cylons on the deck stood back and quietly watched as the jubilant pilots greeted the CAG with handshakes and a round of good-natured teasing. Lee was equally happy to see them, but his enthusiasm was tempered by the losses that they had suffered. The cocky Flyboy … Falcon … the quiet but competent Bobo … _good pilots all_, Apollo reflected; _they'll be hard to replace_.

"All right, enough," Apollo chuckled. "The next clown who asks me about the culinary delights of _Galactica's_ brig is going to spend a week cleaning the pilot's showers with a toothbrush! Status report. We've got a CAP that needs relief. How are we fixed for fuel and ammo?"

"Captain," Duck said, "we're fine for fuel; the Cylons topped us off. But we haven't got much left to shoot with … we can't rack their ammo, and we all used up most of our own over Kobol."

Apollo winced. It was obviously going to be a while before they could rotate the CAP. "Okay, listen up. Starbuck's still chasing toasters, and _Galactica_ will remain locked down until she finishes. So the CAP stays put and you guys …" Lee couldn't suppress a grin … "you guys get to slack off some more. So why don't you check out the food on this bucket, and find some racks. But don't get too comfortable because I'm not planning on authorizing any transfers. Dismissed!"

Lee reentered the Raptor to communicate the bad news to Tigh, but emboldened by their numbers the pilots headed directly across the deck to accost a female Cylon who looked amazingly like Boomer. Food sounded like a great idea, but several of the pilots were even more intent upon discovering what passed for alcohol on a Cylon baseship. A tall, well-muscled Tauron was in the lead. Stallion had acquired his call sign on day one of flight training. In the showers, one of the female cadets had noticed that he was well endowed in every sense of the term. He had an easy grin and the affable manner of the truly self-confident—and he unleashed all of his charms on the unsuspecting Eight.

The Sharon was a maintenance worker, and once assigned to the baseship, she had never left it. She had never been in the control room, had never launched a missile or fired a gun. For her, the war was an abstraction, and genocide a concept with purely intellectual meaning. She had never spoken with a human being, and could count the number that she had actually seen on the fingers of her two hands. When they had returned to Caprica to obtain the seven females that would be needed to complete the prisoner exchange, she had studied them from a distance—and what she saw had disgusted her. They were animals, she thought … and yes, the universe probably would be better off without them. But then she had seen them again when Natalie had summoned everyone to the assembly, and she had marveled at the defiant pride, the strength and the courage in the human woman who had walked out to stand at Leoben's side, the two of them shouting out the human battle cry. And the tall pilot who had impregnated her sister … there was nothing animal about him at all. He never left her side, and there was something about the way he looked at her that aroused feelings in this Sharon that she did not understand.

Surreptitiously, she had watched the human pilots, who at once fascinated and repulsed her. They were all so … individual, and so … flawed. She was trying to find a home for them in her conceptual universe, but it wasn't easy, and now … _now they're coming towards me! I'm going to have to speak with them!_

"Hi," the tall, dark-haired leader said, "I'm Stallion. Are you by any chance Sharon?"

"Yes," she answered, "I'm a Sharon … an Eight." She had to crane her neck to meet the pilot's eyes.

"Well, Sharon, I wonder if you could do us a favor." She saw merriment in those eyes. "Captain Adama has just informed us that we're going to be here a while. We are all getting pretty hungry …"

"And thirsty," Beano interrupted. "Don't forget that part!"

"And thirsty," Stallion concurred. "Would it be possible for us to get something to eat and drink?"

"Of course," Sharon replied, "I can take you to a refectory." Lacking intonation, her voice sent shivers down more than one pilot's spine. _They may look and even feel human,_ Nora Farmer concluded, _but they're not._

"That's great," Stallion said. He had absolutely no idea what a refectory was, but as long as there was food and it was edible, he wasn't about to complain. "Please, lead on. . . ."

"Captain Apollo, I'm D'Anna Biers. Welcome aboard. We spoke a few minutes ago …"

"I recognize your voice, Miss Biers. Are you here to escort me to the control room?"

"Correct, Captain … and please call me D'Anna. So, what is happening on your ship?"

"We've secured the most critical areas, but the centurions are still a threat, and we have taken many casualties. Without your help … D'Anna, let's just say that we are very much in your debt."

"Thank you, Captain, but let us speak no more of debts. We face a common enemy, and unless we stand together, I do not think that any of us will survive."

Apollo remained silent, causing D'Anna to frown.

"Captain, I am not good with words. I must have given you the impression that to us this is merely a marriage of convenience. Nothing could be further from the truth, so let me try again. We … we do not want to disappoint our children. They have made their wishes clear. They want us to go to Earth together, and to live in peace. I don't know if it's possible, but I do know that we have to try. I don't ever want to look in their eyes and see disappointment. This week we have learned the meaning of shame, and the taste of it is bitter, but to fail our children would be infinitely worse. John and Kara have brought meaning to our lives. You may well laugh, but all I really want is for them to be proud of us."

"I'm not laughing, D'Anna. Smiling … maybe, but not laughing. You see, I'm not very good with words either. But maybe, sometimes, we need to say what we feel rather than what we think. Billions of humans over untold eons of time have shared your feelings. It's seems to be what parenthood is all about. . . ."

The Eight was appalled. In the refectory, the pilot whom she now knew to be a Beano had gone straight to the cold storage locker. He had whooped with delight when he opened the door and found the fruit waiting inside. "Hey, apples," he had yelled, "and cheese!" Then he had started blindly throwing the fruit over his shoulder. Didn't he understand how precious this food was? But amazingly, a human hand had reached out to snatch each of the apples as they flew through the air. Nothing landed on the deck.

The female pilot was systematically opening drawers and cabinets; she quickly discovered the boxes of crackers, which soon joined the cheese in the middle of the table. The Beano had also found grapes, as well as their store of energy drinks. "Whoa! Leonis Red! Gods, I haven't seen this stuff in years! Anybody want to try it?"

"Yeah, gimme one," another pilot growled. "I grew up on that stuff." A bottle flew through the air, somehow to find its way unerringly into the human's hand.

The pilots had begun to attract an audience. Two blond-haired Sixes were now standing in the doorway, looks of dread fascination painted on both of their faces. They were identically dressed in the tight-fitting, two piece red outfits that their model so favored. Sharon watched with fascination of her own as the tall Stallion casually approached them, clearly intent on striking up another conversation.

"Ladies," he said with a lazy grin. Then he bit into the apple.

"I'm Stallion. And you are …?"

The two confused Sixes looked at one another, each hoping that the other would understand the question. "We're Sixes," one of them finally replied.

"Yes, I know," Stallion said in return. "I'm acquainted with one of your sisters on _Galactica_. She's beautiful … but nothing like you. You make the goddesses look like a bunch of also-rans." Stallion had decided to roll out his A game. He took another bite out of the apple.

"Don't you have names?"

The two Sixes once again looked at one another in confusion. What was wrong with this human? "We're Sixes," the second blond gamely repeated.

Stallion let out a long sigh. "Ladies, I can hardly call you 'Six Point One' and 'Six Point Two'. Even with names, it's going to be next to impossible to tell you apart. But how about this? Will you permit me the honor of giving you names? I'd like to call you Aphrodite," he said to the one on the left, "and you, my dear," he said to her twin, "remind me of Artemis."

"You want to name us for your goddesses?" A devout monotheist, Aphrodite didn't know whether she should be flattered or insulted.

Stallion smiled tolerantly at the two Sixes. Racetrack had once let it slip that his smile could melt butter; the Sixes were obviously going to be a challenge, but Stallion loved to play this particular game.

He reached up to unpin his pilot's and rank insignia. He fastened one above Aphrodite's right breast, and the other above Artemis' left. Then he favored the gorgeous blonds with a satisfied look. "There, that should help. As long as you don't move the pins, I'll know which of you is which. Now!"

Stallion lightly clapped his hands. "Aphrodite, cheese and crackers positively _demands_ a bottle of wine. I don't suppose that you have a vintage red from Leonis Estates that you'd like to share?"

"We have wine," Aphrodite responded. "I will bring it for you."

"Why don't I come along and carry it for you?"

Behind them, one of the other pilots audibly groaned. . . .

"Hi, big guy … it's been a while." The tall ECO treated Apollo to one of the sheepish grins for which he was justifiably famous throughout the cohort of colonial pilots.

"_Helo?"_ Lee had conjured up several scenarios for his first trip to the baseship's control room, but running into Karl Agathon the moment he entered the chamber had not been one of them. "What the frak? _How did you get here?_"

"It's a long story, Apollo, but the short version is that, after dodging centurions on Caprica for a couple of months, Sharon and I decided to hitch a ride with Starbuck. And yes, I know that she's not Boomer, I know that she's a Cylon, and I don't care. I love her, we're having a baby, and if I can find a priest who's willing to marry us, I plan to make an honest woman out of her." Karl wrapped his arms affectionately around the Eight, who had come up to join the conversation. "Lee, this is Sharon; Sharon, Lee Adama … _Captain_ Lee Adama! Hey, congratulations, man."

Lee looked warily at Sharon. This was where things were likely to get confused. "So … uh, Sharon … have we met before?" Although Lee was unaware of it, the other Cylons in the chamber were looking at him with varying degrees of amusement. They understood the source of his uncertainty.

The future Mrs. Agathon grinned at the obviously rattled CAG. "No, Apollo. I do have Boomer's memories, but they're from her last download. That was on Picon … before the attacks. So, I've heard of you, but we've not actually met. How is my sister, by the way?"

A guilty look stole across Lee's face. He had not responded well to the revelation that Boomer was a Cylon. He had shunned her as much as possible, and when duty did force them together, he had treated her like … well, like a Cylon. He wasn't proud of the way he had behaved, and he suspected that his attitude, and that of other pilots, had pushed her over the edge.

"She committed suicide earlier today, probably while we were over Kobol. We think she's downloaded. We think that's how the Cylons found us. I'm sorry."

Helo pulled Sharon deeper into his grasp, and she willingly sank into his arms. "That's … that's unfortunate," Sharon finally remarked. "Now the Cavils have her … her, and all of her memories. That's not good," she murmured.

"Hey, Sharon," Helo said as he hugged her close, "we'll get her back, okay? Her and Thalia and everybody else we've lost … we're gonna find them, I swear. One of the things that you've all got to learn about us humans is that we're stubborn, and we're persistent. When we say that we're going to do something, we do it." Helo kissed her gently on the top of her head.

"Helo, I love you _so much_." Sharon couldn't imagine a universe without Helo. She didn't even want to try.

"So, Apollo," Helo said with another of his patented grins. "Let me give you the ten cubit tour. Sharon is currently responsible for internal security … at least, when she's not throwing up. Pregnancy's a bitch! Anyway, if we were to be boarded, she would coordinate our defense from that console over there. Those two Sixes …"

Helo gently disengaged himself from Sharon, and turned to point to another console at the far end of the control room.

"Those two Sixes are in charge of navigation. And you've already met D'Anna … she takes care of communications." Helo drew Lee's attention to the man standing on the far side of the central console. "That's one of the Leobens. He's kind of a tactical officer. He keeps us apprised of what the other side is throwing at us." Helo gestured towards still another secondary console. "Sharon's sister is the weapons officer. When we punch back, she's the one throwing the punches. Finally, I'd like you to meet Natalie. She coordinates everything that happens in this room. Think of the whole baseship as an orchestra; Natalie's the conductor."

"Hello, Captain; it's good to meet you at last." Natalie held out her hand. "Although I must confess that I never expected to be welcoming you on board our ship!"

"Thank you," Lee managed in reply. He shook her hand while he studied her. _A leader,_ he thought. _This one is a natural leader. She wears command authority like a second skin … the same way my father does. I'm glad she's on our side! _Apollo was instantly amazed by the visible differences between Natalie and Creusa. One was a leader and the other a warrior. Yes, they wore their hair quite differently, and Natalie seemed as casual about her appearance as Creusa was fastidious, but these were superficial characteristics. Lee didn't think that he would ever confuse the two women under any circumstances.

"Colonel Tigh has asked me to coordinate our communications frequencies, and to inquire about the status of your Raider, Heavy Raider complement."

"Colonel Tigh?" Lee could hear the puzzlement in Natalie's voice. "Has something happened to Commander Adama?"

"My father's been shot." Lee had to struggle hard to keep his voice steady. "One of the centurions reached the CIC. It was targeting Shelly Godfrey, but dad threw himself in front of her … shielded her."

The room grew very, very quiet. The seven Cylons were all having a difficult time digesting what they had just heard. A human willingly jeopardizing his own life to save a Cylon was very far removed from the reality that the Cavils had sold them.

"I'm sorry, Lee," Natalie finally managed to reply. "I'm so, so sorry."

"It's okay. He loves her. My father … he really, really loves her. He'd die for her without a moment's hesitation." Lee swallowed hard. "There's more. Creusa … Creusa was seriously wounded in the battle for Aft Damage Control. She's also in surgery." Lee laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. "Can you believe it? Simon's trying to save my dad, and one of our paramedics is trying to save Creusa. . . . Anyway, she saved the ship … Creusa and your centurions saved the ship. Now Kara's running down the last of the enemy centurions, but she's trying to save them … get them to surrender. She told one of our pilots that they're her brothers. How can that be? I don't understand any of this." Lee shook his head in frustration.

_He's a little boy lost,_ Natalie thought sympathetically, _and I can hardly blame him. At the moment, we're all trying to sort out lives that have been turned upside down and inside out._

"Lee, if it helps, we're just as lost … just as much out of our depth as you are. Three days ago, it was all so simple. All we had to do was hunt you down, wipe you out, and the war would be over. And then we discovered that it was all a pack of lies. We have wanted children for so long, and we have tried so many times. There have been a few pregnancies, but without exception they ended fairly quickly in miscarriages. We had lost all hope … _all hope_. And then, without warning, John and Kara come to us, and Sharon is pregnant with Lieutenant Agathon's child. The Cavils have known for decades that we can have children, and yet they hid that fact from us. Why would they do such a thing? How could they be so cruel? Lee, you are going to encounter a lot of bitterness on this ship, but none of it is directed at you. We'll go on fighting the Cavils while trying to save as many of our kind as we can. But with humans we want a new beginning … a chance to start over. John has dedicated himself to bridging the gap between us, and he's hurting, Lee. His suffering is of a magnitude that sickens us, and you cannot even begin to imagine the sense of shame that we feel. And now Kara has taken up his cause, and she's just as determined as he is to save us all. It takes every ounce of courage that I can muster just to look in her eyes. I'm afraid of what I'm going to see there. She loves us, she forgives us … they both do … _and we're not worthy_." Natalie was so consumed with emotion that she was choking on the words. _"We're not worthy, but as God is my witness, we're going to try. We are not going to fail our children!"_

Natalie took a deep breath, and turned away savagely to grip the central console. "Thank you for looking after Creusa. No matter how it turns out … thank you. Now, at present we have 584 Raiders fully operational, and sixty-odd Heavy Raiders. We also have more than 10,000 centurions on board. We can, and we will, do as much of the heavy lifting as Colonel Tigh and Commander Adama desire. When your father recovers, Lee, I intend to place this ship under his authority. . . .

"Hey, come on … you _have _to join us!" Stallion had returned in triumph from his foraging expedition—the triumph taking the form of three bottles of vintage Leonis Estates Chevalier Gold. On Picon or Caprica, the twelve year old Merdoc would have cost any of the pilots most of a month's salary, but here they would quite literally be drinking the spoils of war. Still, Stallion had no desire to drink alone—and he did not count his fellow pilots as acceptable company. He had unleashed the full range of his charms on Sharon, Aphrodite and Artemis, but much to the delight of Beano and Gonzo in particular, he had so far hit the proverbial brick wall. Nothing in his considerable arsenal of smooth lines and sexually charged small talk had made a dent. Sharon claimed that she had to return to her duties, which was a marginally acceptable excuse, but the two Sixes merely claimed to be neither hungry nor thirsty, and that most definitely was not. Stallion's reputation was now firmly on the line, and he wasn't about to surrender meekly to the enemy.

"I mean, you're now ambassadors … good will ambassadors, if you will. In the interest of improved relations with your new allies, you have to stay. Aphrodite … Artemis … you're both pilots, right? And the Heavy Raider's a serious machine. We're probably gonna end up flying together, so we have to get to know one another. Take each other's measure. And that doesn't happen in the cockpit … that happens right here! So, you _have _to join us!"

"Stallion, is that desperation I detect in your voice?" Natalie and yet another Six had escorted Helo and Apollo to the refectory, and Helo had been eavesdropping on the smooth-talking but obviously frustrated pilot with increasing amusement. The three Cylon females had started to leave, but Natalie waved them back into the room and bid them to sit down.

"_Helo!"_ Nora Farmer was already on her feet, and rushed to embrace her favorite ECO. "You made it … by the gods, you made it!"

Duck was right behind her, grinning hugely. The three of them had gone through flight training together, but they had cemented their friendship in their off-duty hours. The bars around the Picon air base had known them well.

"Hey, guy," Duck exclaimed, let me shake your hand before I kick you in the ass! What the hell were you thinking, Helo? Why in the name of the gods did you give up your seat for that slimy son of a bitch Baltar?"

"Hey, I was just living up to my reputation as an all-around good guy," Helo grinned. "But things worked out. Sharon caught up with me … not Boomer but another Sharon … and we spent the last two months living the high life on Caprica. You know how it goes … sleeping in haystacks, lots of healthy exercise running away from centurions, crawling through sewers, eating cold beans. That's when I began to figure out that Sharon might be pregnant. It got so bad that she couldn't even look at a tin of beans without throwing up!"

"_Helo, you've been frakking a toaster?"_ Beano couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Beano, put a lid on it," Apollo firmly ordered. He glared at the pilots. "Stallion's right. For all the wrong reasons, of course, but he's still right. As we speak, Starbuck's wandering around _Galactica_ with a couple of squads of centurions in tow, and there's a wounded Cylon in surgery. There's our new reality. The word has yet to come down, but it's just a matter of time before we're ordered to start cross-training. Plan on it. The Cylons are going to learn how to fly Raptors, and you prima donnas are going to certify on Heavy Raiders. So, _nuggets_, I'd like you to meet two of the people that figure to be spending a lot of time in your faces. This is Natalie; the Cylons don't have ranks, but if they did, she would be the commander of this ship."

Apollo turned to introduce the other Six, who was wearing a stylish, two-piece black business suit. "And this is Sonja. She's the lead pilot around here, which makes her the CAG. You will address both of them as 'Sir' or 'Ma'am', whatever their preference. The next one of you knuckleheads who calls a Cylon anywhere in the fleet a 'toaster' or a 'skin job' will be off rotation. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," a number of the now subdued pilots muttered.

"Good. Now, why don't you introduce me to your new friends?" Lee looked closely at the pair of Sixes before glancing quickly around the group of pilots. "Stallion, you're out of uniform. Would you care to explain how these two young women ended up wearing your insignia?"

"Well, Captain, it's like this. I thought that it would make it easier for us to tell who's who. Now that they've taken names, it would be kind of embarrassing if we mixed them up."

Natalie and Sonja looked at one another. They were equally mystified. "Sisters," Natalie asked, "when did you decide to adopt names?"

"We didn't," one of the Sixes replied. "Stallion decided to call us Aphrodite and Artemis. I'm Artemis."

Lee roared with laughter. "Hephaestus, I'm all for fraternization, but couldn't you at least have waited for us to post some rules and regs?"

"Hephaestus? _His name is Hephaestus?" _Natalie was making a valiant effort to keep a straight face, but she couldn't quite pull it off.

"Yes, ma'am," Apollo said. "This is Lieutenant Hephaestus Jerome Fears."

"Hephaestus and Aphrodite. Well … that's … revealing." Natalie's lips curled into the barest trace of a smile. "Tell me, Lieutenant … do you want to bed my sister, or were you perhaps thinking in terms of a threesome?"

Dragon, who was in the process of gulping down a mouthful of Leonis Red, started coughing helplessly. "The lady shoots," he eventually squeezed out, _"and she scores_!"

"Send out a distress call," Gonzo maliciously added. "Stallion has just crashed and burned!"

The beleaguered lieutenant had the grace to blush several endearing shades of crimson.

. . .

"Hell of a job," Sergeant Fischer commented. "Both of you. Hell of a job."

"Colonel, I think she's going to be okay." Ishay nodded in Creusa's direction. The Cylon's blood pressure had stabilized, and was now gradually beginning to rise.

Saul Tigh simply looked at Simon.

"Well, I've managed to stop the bleeding," the Cylon reported. "But let's not kid ourselves. He's still critical."

The XO nodded, and then turned back to his old friend. "Can you hear me, Bill? Doc Cottle's on his way. Kara's finished off the last of the centurions, so we're open for business. What are we gonna do? Gods, Bill, tell me … _what are we gonna do?_"


	6. Chapter 6: The Little Tin God

CHAPTER 6

THE LITTLE TIN GOD

"_Gods damn it,"_ Cottle roared, _"the next time I say I'm in a hurry, cycle the damn airlock faster. Is this your first day on the job?"_

The much harried medical officer raced down the companionway towards sickbay, pausing only long enough to light a cigarette. Unfortunately, he could only manage a few quick puffs before he arrived at his destination. One of the nurses ran up with a bedpan; Cottle pulled the precious nicotine deep into his lungs, and then stubbed out the butt. Belatedly, he realized that the bedpan had not seen recent service. _Most of these morons wouldn't know one end of a catheter from the other_,Kottle thought, _but at least they found me a clean ashtray!_

Cottle looked down at the heavily sedated figure of Commander William Adama. "Okay," he said, "let's have some vitals. _Now _would be good!"

"He took two bullets in the back," Simon O'Neill dutifully reported. "One lacerated the spleen, and the other nicked the aorta. We successfully removed the spleen, and I thought that we had repaired the aorta, but …"

"Over the past few hours," Ishay continued, "his blood pressure first stabilized, and then started dropping again. It's back down to 80/40. And his heart rate is creeping into the 130's."

"Well, you missed something," Cottle growled. "He's still hemorrhaging somewhere. We're gonna lose him unless we can stop the bleeding. I want both of you to assist. Ishay, you do instruments."

Saul Tigh was standing in the background. "Is he gonna make it?"

"How should I know? I'm not a psychic. Now get the hell out of here."

Cottle took a scalpel to the sutures that Simon O'Neill had only recently closed, and began gently to poke around the inside of the thoracic cavity.

"Gods, what a mess," he muttered. "It looks like the mesenteric artery may have been damaged. Arterial clamp!"

Ishay promptly slapped the clamp into his outstretched hand.

"Gimme a 3.7 mac. . . . Simon, I need more suction; I can't see a damned thing!"

"Doctor Cottle," Sergeant Fischer interrupted, "his pressure's still dropping. It's down to 60/30."

"Sir," Ishay added, "his heart rate's starting to fall. I don't think he can last much longer."

"All of you just stay focused," Cottle barked. "No one dies around here without my permission, and I'm not feeling very charitable today!"

. . .

Shelly Godfrey was at once stunned and alarmed by what had taken place in the brig. As part of her continuing campaign to cultivate the President, Shelly had decided casually to drop by and inform Laura Roslin that Bill was out of surgery, and appeared to be stable. She found the President lying on her cot, but when she called out to her, Laura Roslin had screamed. It was as if she was experiencing a nightmare in her waking state. Shelly had looked questioningly at Corporal Venner, but Venner had simply shrugged his shoulders. The Cylon had now been around humans long enough to understand that the corporal was as mystified by the President's behavior as she was.

"Madame President," she had asked, "can I get you anything?"

Roslin had got up and walked over to face her, but her eyes were unfocused, and Shelly suspected that the President might not even be aware of her surroundings.

"Madame President," she had repeated, "can I get you anything _while you are in the brig_?"

"Oh … oh … really? Shelly!" Roslin's breathing was shallow and rapid; Shelly thought that she might well be hyperventilating.

"Shelly! No, thank you. I'm sorry. I'm finding it … I'm finding it hard to think. It's withdrawal."

"What? Madame President … withdrawal … withdrawal from what?"

"What? Who?" Laura Roslin blinked several times in rapid succession, and her eyes finally came firmly to rest on her visitor. "Shelly! It's you!"

Shelly Godfrey frowned. Something was badly wrong here, and she was acutely aware that it would be catastrophic if something happened to Laura Roslin while she was in _Galactica's_ brig. It would quite simply tear the fleet apart.

"Madame President … are you all right? Can I get you anything?"

"Shelly! No … no … I'll be fine … but thank you … thank you." Laura turned away, and stumbled back to her cot. She sat down, and began staring vacuously into space.

"What's wrong with her?" Venner had come up to stand alongside of her, but he kept his voice low.

Shelly turned, so that her back was to the President. She stared at the young marine. "I don't know, but she's clearly sick. You can see that, can't you?"

"Yeah," Venner conceded, "but there's nothing I can do."

_Well,_ Shelly thought,_ something needs to be done, and it needs to be done fast. And I can think of only one person who might know what's going on!_

Shelly stormed out of the brig and strode rapidly to the CIC, leaving the ever faithful Sergeant Brandy Harder trailing badly in her wake.

. . .

"Lieutenant Gaeta, why are you hovering about?"

"Colonel, it's the press."

"The press? What the frak does the press want?"

"Colonel, Commander Adama invited the press to assemble a pool of reporters to accompany us on the mission over Kobol. Now they're demanding access to President Roslin … and they want to know when they can file their stories and contact their home ships."

Tigh snorted. "They demand, do they? Those frakkers are in no position to demand anything. You tell them to shut their traps. We'll get to them in due time. Due time," Tigh sneered, "being about a month from now!"

"Excuse me, Colonel," Dualla said, "but a shuttle from the _Zephyr_ has just requested permission to enter the landing pattern."

"The _Zephyr_?"

"Yes, sir," Dee added with her best Triad face. "The Quorum of Twelve is apparently aboard. They're demanding to see you … the President … one or more of the gods … I don't know, sir."

"They demand, do they? Very well, clear them to land. Put them in the ward room and hold them there until I have time to see them."

Tigh started to scowl. "Is there anybody else who wants to demand something? Come on people, spit it out!" Tigh spun around so that he could take in the whole of the CIC. "Is the water in the showers not to your liking? No lemons to go with your tea? Got too many lumps in your mattresses? Now's the time, people! We want to make sure that everybody's happy."

"Demanding job, isn't it Colonel … running a battlestar." Apollo, who had just returned from the baseship, was bent over the plot. He had already rotated the CAP, and now he was trying to figure out how best to make use of their new Cylon assets, but he was not about to pass on an opportunity publicly to humiliate Tigh. The snickers that he heard throughout the CIC warmed his heart.

"Captain," Tigh roared, "what are you doing here? Why aren't you in the brig?"

"I'm still on duty, sir," Apollo said with mock innocence. "Remember, sir? I only report to the brig when I'm off duty?"

Apollo and the XO were so caught up in their verbal duel that neither man noticed Shelly Godfrey enter the CIC. She went straight to Dualla.

"Anastasia? Do you know where Billy Keikeya is at the moment?"

"Ma'am?"

Shelly sighed. "Billy Keikeya, Dee. I need to find him. Do you know where he is?"

"Yes, Ma'am. He's in the President's office on board _Colonial One_. Commander Adama has issued orders restricting his movements on _Galactica."_

"Fine. Contact him on the wireless, and tell him that I want to see him. I will be there as quickly as I can arrange a shuttle."

"_Ma'am?_" Alarm bells started to ring in Dee's head. She knew that Shelly Godfrey had never been off the _Galactica_, and for a very good reason. Her relationship with Bill Adama was common knowledge throughout the fleet, but among the civilians "the commander's Cylon whore" was about the kindest label that anyone had pinned on her. Her life would be at risk the moment she left _Galactica's_ decks.

Anastasia Dualla did not want to see anything bad happen to Shelly Godfrey. Damn it, she _liked _the Cylon. Shelly was unfailingly polite, caring and considerate, and she made the commander happy. Her gentleness had tamed something dark and terrible inside him, and _Galactica_ was a happier ship in consequence.

"Ma'am … is that wise?"

"Probably not, Dee … probably not." Shelly Godfrey had no illusions about the human hatred of Cylons. "I'll take marines with me, and hope for the best."

"Shelly," Dualla whispered, "do you want me to come with you? I might be able to help."

"Thank you, Dee … but I don't want to cause any tension between you and Billy. I'll be fine. Just call him and tell him that I'm on my way."

. . .

Caprica Six had come to this place in search of humans, but she had also come here to get away from her fellow Cylons. She had loved pre-war Caprica City—its parks and fountains, the river, the deep bays and forested hillsides of the upscale residential areas. But more than anything else, she had loved its vibrancy. Life had spilled over each and every day from the buildings into the streets. Before the war, Caprica City had been so intensely _alive_, and she had relished every minute of her time there. The city was in her veins.

But no more. The Cylons had nuked the suburbs, the industrial zones and the outlying military bases, but they had reserved the city center for themselves. A fifty megaton neutron bomb had left the buildings and the park benches intact while killing off the human populace, the animals, even the grass and trees. Now the Cylons had moved in. Centurions were planting new trees even as they carried off millions of the dead to suffer the final indignity of mass incineration. In Caprica's mind, the city had become a hive of obscenity, and worse. Her people were arrogant, smugly self-righteous, and to overweening pride they had now added the second and more terrible sin of impiety. The dead deserved to rest in peace.

Though she did not openly parade her beliefs in the manner of the Twos and the Threes, Caprica Six was in fact a deeply religious being, and she did not think that God would ignore the sins of her people. There would be a day of reckoning, of that she was sure—a day when her people would be humbled for their misplaced pride and their many acts of sacrilege. But those who repented would survive the cleansing, and they might yet achieve great things.

It was Caprica's job to prepare for that future, and so she had come to this playground deep in the forest beyond Delphi. She had come in search of humans, and she had not come empty-handed. She had entered the data stream, and she had systematically noted every hospital and medical center in a broad zone around the city. She had noted other things as well, from emergency shelters and military supply depots to … the farms. She did not yet know how to tell the humans about the farms, but they had to know … had to know that there were better things to do with their time than blowing up cafes and killing the same Cylons over and over again.

Caprica sat on the swing, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her upturned face. And in that moment she prayed. She prayed for a world in which no one who sat on a swing would ever again have to wonder about the direction from which the bullet might come. She knew that the humans were out there, and that they knew her for what she was. It was possible that they would shoot her from a distance, but she hoped that curiosity would get the better of them. They would suspect a trap, and rightly so, because there had been many traps and not a few humans had been snared. The lucky ones had died outright.

"Do you have a Samuel T. Anders with you?" Caprica pitched her voice in the general direction from which the sound of snapping twigs and hushed voices was reaching her.

"Who wants to know?"

The voice was male, and she was relieved to discover that someone was willing to talk to her. People did not generally shoot and talk at the same time.

"I'm cylon … a Six. The others call me Caprica Six, although I prefer to be called Natasi. I'm here to help you."

The man laughed, and Natasi heard other humans snickering all around her. They had her surrounded.

"Yeah, right," a female voice offered. "You Cylons are just overflowing with love for humankind. You're our guardian angels," she sneered.

"Give me one good reason," the man said, "why I shouldn't put a bullet in your head and end this conversation right now."

"I can give you several, but there's only one that really matters. I'm a traitor to my people … no, worse than that … I'm a collaborator. And I'm not alone. Two baseships have gone over to the human cause. Even now, one of them fights alongside the battlestar _Galactic_a."

"Gods," the male voice cut in, "there's simply no end to your lies. It's the one thing you skin jobs are really good at."

"Then shoot me," Caprica declared. "I'll just download, and the others will send centurions to deal with you if they succeed in extracting this location from my consciousness. I'll try to mask it, and I may well be able to pull it off because …" There was a hint of pride in Caprica's voice, and she hoped that God would forgive her this minor transgression.

"… because I was really pretty well trained. . . . Anyway, if you decide to shoot me, please empty my pockets before you leave. You'll find photos of all seven Cylon models. If there are any in your camp, remember not to shoot them until shortly before you decide to relocate. I'm also carrying all sorts of lists … places where you can safely load up on supplies, and places that you should avoid. Stockpile as much as you can because sooner or later everything in the civilian fleet that _Galactica_ protects will run out. When they return for you, it will also be their last opportunity to resupply. In particular, you should stock up on pharmaceuticals and toiletries … things like toothpaste and tampons. You do know what a tampon is, don't you, Mister Anders?"

A lengthy silence ensued, but finally a tall figure stood up and walked through the brush at the park's edge. Caprica instantly recognized Sam Anders, the captain and star player for the Caprica Buccaneers. She loved pyramid, and she had never denied herself the best seats in the arena. Truth be told, Caprica Six was a huge fan.

Other humans began to emerge from hiding, and as she looked around she saw C-Bucs everywhere.

"Sue-Shaun? Jo-Man?" Caprica got to her feet and spun in a circle. "Rally! Ten-Point! Crip Key! Morris … Morris Fink? The Caprica Buccaneers! How did you people survive?"

"We were in the mountains when the bombs started falling," Anders replied, his eyes alert and filled with suspicion. "High altitude training. We've been on the run ever since."

"Well, I'm glad you made it, although it puzzles me that you're still alive. Right now, you're holed up in Delphi Union High School. The Cylons know that you're there, but for some reason they've decided to give you a wide berth." Caprica frowned.

"There are experiments going on all over the planet, and you may well be one of them. Take a look at these pictures. Do you recognize any of these faces?" She slowly reached into her pocket, pulled out the photos, and passed them around.

Sue-Shaun gasped. "The doc? _The doc's a Cylon?_"

Sam stared hard at another photo, and then wordlessly passed it to Crip-Key.

"The priest? The priest's a Cylon too? Gods!"

"Well, at least we now know why you're alive," Caprica observed. "The Four … Simon … he's probably studying you." Caprica looked around the circle of human faces. "Listen," she added, "don't trust either one of them, and avoid the Fives at all costs!" Caprica tapped the picture of Aaron Doral. "The other four models are salvageable, but these three won't rest until the last human is dead."

"Salvageable? Lady, what's going on? Who are you, and why are you doing this?" Morris looked at his teammates, and saw that several of them were nodding in agreement. Everyone had pretty much the same questions.

Because … you owe me twenty cubits!" Caprica pretended to glare at Sam. "You remember that playoff game against Aerilon last year? I was told it was a sure thing, but you guys couldn't shoot, you couldn't pass, you couldn't do anything. Honestly, I don't know how you managed to find your way out of the locker room!"

"Everyone's a critic," Sue-Shaun sighed.

Sam held up his hand for silence. He looked at Caprica more closely. "I remember you," he said. "You were in the front row, sitting a few seats to the right of the basket. The best looking blond in the house."

"Yes, and I came down to the locker room afterwards … to get my money back! But you never showed."

_Gods_, Sam thought. _Even the Cylons have groupies. Still, pity I missed her. I would have gladly given her the twenty cubits … right before I took her to bed._

. . .

At first, Sergeant Brandy Harder had politely but firmly refused Shelly Godfrey's request. As Shelly's quiet but near constant shadow, Brandy knew far better than anyone else on _Galactica_ just how deeply attached to one another the Cylon and the commander had become. However, she also acutely appreciated the danger to which Shelly would be exposed on any other ship in the fleet. _Colonial One_ was no exception. The President's armed bodyguards aside, Brandy had no idea how many other guns might be floating about the premises. One might easily prove enough. The risk was simply too great.

When Shelly had upped the ante by demanding a shuttle, Sergeant Harder had just as stubbornly dug in her heels. It was only when the Cylon had taken her aside and quietly explained what was happening to Laura Roslin that Brandy reluctantly acquiesced. Still, she had insisted that Shelly remain inside a protective cordon of four experienced marines. Shelly had agreed in principle, but she had insisted on talking to Billy Keikeya alone. And that was how Brandy, Nathaniel Ferris, Erin Mathias and Terry Burrell had found themselves on the hangar deck of _Colonial One_, where an intense conversation was now unfolding inside the space that they had secured.

"Billy, a few hours ago President Roslin and I were talking in sickbay. The President was rational and coherent. A half hour ago I went to visit her in the brig, and she was unfocused and virtually incoherent. She did everything but drool. It's obvious that she needs help, but neither Corporal Venner nor I have any idea what to do. That's why I'm here, Billy. The President made it clear that she's combating withdrawal symptoms, but that's all we have been able to get out of her."

Billy Keikeya stepped back and folded his arms. A very determined look settled on his face. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I'm grateful for your concern for the President's well-being, but there's nothing I can tell you. I suggest that you take this up with Doctor Cottle."

Shelly nodded her head in agreement. "I would, Billy, but Doctor Cottle is in surgery. He's had to reopen Commander Adama, and there are other casualties in immediate need of medical treatment who will demand his attention when he's finished with Bill."

Billy began to squirm uncomfortably. _Damn the commander! If I could just get on board Galactica, I could deal with this quietly._

"Billy," Shelly went on, "I appreciate your loyalty to the President, and I applaud your determination to respect her privacy. But, please … the commander is fighting for his life and the President is in the brig. Her condition is visibly deteriorating. Do you want Saul Tigh to have unchallenged authority over this fleet? Billy, the man is erratic … unpredictable, and we both know it. We _need_ the President, Billy, and we need her to stay sharp, so you have got to help me. There's no other way!"

Billy Keikeya came to a decision. "Ma'am," he said, "if you'll wait here, I'll bring the President's medication."

Billy headed back into the bowels of _Colonial One_, and Shelly Godfrey wandered over to join Brandy Harder. "Sergeant, I think we're making progress. Thank you for all your help."

"It's my pleasure, Ma'am," Brandy replied. "And don't worry, Ma'am, we'll get you home in one piece."

Shelly smiled, and patted Brandy Harder gently on the arm. "I know you will, Brandy … I know you will."

When Billy Keikeya returned, he slid an unlabelled jar into Shelly's hand. "This is the President's medicine," he stated. "If she takes this, her condition will improve dramatically."

"Thank you, Billy … but what is it?"

"Chamalla extract," the presidential aide replied with a wooden expression.

"Chamalla extract? Billy," Shelly gently asked, "isn't this the drug that your oracles use when they want to … induce a vision?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Billy looked down at her. "But it has other uses," he added defensively. "Some people believe that it's effective in fighting advanced cases of … cancer."

Shelly Godfrey was profoundly shocked, and without thinking she reached out to grasp Billy Keikeya's arm and give it an encouraging squeeze. "How bad?"

"Terminal," Billy confessed. "The President has a month or two at the most, conceivably less. Doctor Cottle won't make any firm promises."

"Does Commander Adama know?"

"No, Ma'am. For reasons of morale, we have kept knowledge of the President's condition tightly guarded. Only four other people know." Billy looked at her expectantly.

Shelly understood. "I won't violate your trust, Billy. I'll do everything I can to help the President, and that includes trying to get her out of the brig. Is there anyone in sickbay who can supply more of this drug … no questions asked?"

"Yes, Ma'am …"

. . .

When she returned to the _Galactica_, Shelly Godfrey headed straight for the brig. It took only a cursory glance for Shelly to decide that the President's condition had deteriorated still further. Laura Roslin was sitting on the floor, her back to the wall. She was waving a hand vacuously in the air while mumbling something about the scriptures.

"Madame President? Madame President, it's me … Shelly Godfrey. Madame President, I've brought your medicine. Do you understand? I went to _Colonial One_, and Billy gave me this jar of chamalla extract."

Laura climbed to her feet, and staggered in Shelly's direction. She had to grip the bars hard to keep from falling down. She stared at Shelly, trying to remember who she was. Then it came to her.

"Shelly! How's the commander?"

"Still in surgery, Madame President. It will be a while." Shelly thrust the container through the bars. "Here, Madame President … the chamalla extract. You need to take this _while you are in the brig_."

"The brig?" Understanding finally dawned in the President's eyes. "Shelly! Thank you … thank you … this will help a lot." Laura turned around, and went back to sit down on the cot.

With a nod to Corporal Venner, Shelly hastened from the brig. She had to find Colonel Tigh, and somehow convince the man to free Laura Roslin before it was too late.

. . .

Saul Tigh didn't know which was worse—being badgered by Shelly Godfrey, or having to put up with Lee Adama's increasingly transparent displays of insubordination. The XO knew that he wasn't popular- it wasn't his job to be popular- but Apollo's barely concealed contempt was beginning to spread to others in the CIC, and that was bound to have a negative impact on performance and discipline. Saul was still trying to figure out what to do with the commander's kid when Shelly Godfrey caught up with him for the second time. He politely acknowledged Shelly's concern for Laura Roslin's health, conceded that it would be catastrophic for anything to happen to the former president while in custody on board _Galactica_, and promised to look in on her at the earliest opportunity.

But Saul had absolutely no intention of dealing with Laura Roslin, and he congratulated himself on finding the ideal solution to a seemingly intractable dilemma. No one could reasonably expect him to be two places at once, so the XO decided that while he was tackling the Quorum in the ward room, he would leave it to Ellen to deal with the one-time Secretary of Education.

At the moment, however, the colonel wasn't at all sure about the wisdom of his choice. The collection of posturing prima donnas who made up the so-called government of the Twelve Colonies had turned a deaf ear to his attempts to explain Roslin's arrest. They simply refused to listen to reason. _Fine,_ Tigh thought, _one more try and then I shove the whole damned bunch out an airlock._

"Now look, for the last time, Laura Roslin suborned mutiny and sedition aboard this ship. She caused a key military asset to be lost at a critical moment. The commander felt he had no choice but to remove her from power."

"You've said that several times," Sarah Porter responded. She looked around the room, seeking support from her fellow delegates.

"You don't seem to be listening, Colonel." Marshall Bagot had decided to get in Tigh's face. "It does not matter what Adama felt. He had absolutely no authority …"

"Adama knew exactly what he was doing," Tom Zarek interrupted. "He was paving the way to declare martial law and usher in a military dictatorship. Isn't that right, Colonel?"

Tigh turned away. He desperately needed something to drink … and at this point, he was even willing to settle for water.

"I can't speak for the commander," he insisted. "He's still in surgery."

"Well, you seem to be giving the orders around here," Bagot countered.

"So what exactly are you planning to do?" Zarek was persistent. "Are you declaring martial law?"

"Absolutely not. I know for a fact that the Old Man hated the very idea of martial law." Tigh sat down, and picked up his water glass. "He believed in freedom and democracy, and all that good stuff."

"Well," Zarek continued, "since this is still a democracy and 'all that good stuff', I move that the Quorum demand immediate access to President Roslin."

"Excellent," Bagot put in, "I second it."

Sarah Porter marched up to stand beside Bagot and Zarek. "All those in favor?"

A chorus of ayes sounded behind her.

"Motion carries," Porter said impatiently. "Colonel, we demand immediate access to the President."

Tigh slammed his pen into the water glass. Enough was enough. He got up, and headed for the hatchway. "I will take your 'demand' under advisement," he remarked with equal impatience as he left the chamber.

. . .

"Madame President?"

Laura Roslin was lying on the cot. She was curled up in a fetal ball, and rambling incoherently.

"Madame President?" Ellen tried again. "Laura?"

The President looked up, but without her eyeglasses she couldn't identify her latest visitor. She put them on, but she still couldn't place the long-haired blond who was standing on the opposite side of the bars.

"Are you all right?"

Laura stood up, but staggered badly. Ellen's first impression was that Laura had had too much to drink, but in the brig that seemed altogether unlikely.

"I just came down to see if there was anything I could do for you. Anything I can get you?"

Laura staggered twice more as she groped her way toward the bars.

"I would like to have a conversation with my attorney," she said. "Could you arrange that?"

"Yeah, sure, right," Ellen chuckled. Then it gradually dawned on her that Roslin was serious.

"Laura, do you know where you are?"

"I'm in jail," the President replied as she fought off another wave of pain.

"What's my name?" Ellen wasn't convinced that their deposed leader even knew what ship she was on.

Laura wasn't sure how to answer. "Have we met?" Wincing in pain, she reached up to plug her ears. "I'm sorry; excuse me. . . . It's just the ringing … excuse me." She retreated to the cot.

"The ringing?" Ellen looked over at Venner, but the corporal just shook his head.

Ellen was at a loss for words. She was convinced that the former president had suffered a mental breakdown. With a final inane pleasantry, the XO's wife left the chamber.

. . .

"I've divided up everything in a twenty mile zone around Delphi into three categories. First, there are the sites that are under continuous Cylon occupation. Unless you're looking for a fight with centurions, I would avoid these bases and medical facilities." Caprica Six swiftly drew red circles around a number of locations on an ordnance map that she had found in a Caprica City bookshop.

"These sites, in contrast, are monitored passively … both audio and visual for internal security, and infrared for the perimeter." She drew blue circles around another set of locations. "You can certainly get in, but I simply do not know whether they will ignore you or not. Personally, I'd consider these hard targets and give them a wide berth."

"But there are still plenty of soft targets out there … at least for the time being. Here, take this."

Caprica reached into her jacket pocket, and brought out a small electronic device. She handed it to Sam.

"What is it?"

"It's a tracer. The Cylons have littered all the supplies that they think you will target as high priority with tracking devices. Point this at anything that's been tagged, and this LED will activate. This is what you're looking for." Caprica pulled a small electronic bug out of her pocket.

"Try not to move it more than a meter. The surveillance system is very sensitive."

Sam studied the beautiful Cylon for a long moment. "Natasi, why are you doing this? Seriously, why would you, alone of all the Cylons, be willing to help us?"

Natasi's face went very still, but Sam sensed that powerful emotions were coursing through her.

"Five months before the attacks," she said in a soft voice that was filled with no small measure of self-loathing, "I met someone. A Colonial Secret Service officer. I seduced him … betrayed him. I got him to a baseship beyond the Armistice Line. My people interrogated him. It was brutal, and eventually … they broke him. His mind … he regressed to infancy. He kept begging them not to hurt his mother; he promised to be good if only they wouldn't …"

Caprica choked back a sob as her eyes welled with tears.

"My people learned … they finally found out that John was our child—the first Cylon-human hybrid child. _Oh, God!_"

Caprica covered her eyes with her hands, but her body was quaking. John had instantly forgiven her, but she had never been able to forgive herself for her role in what had transpired on the baseship.

"_We had been torturing our own son, our first born child!"_

"The discovery tore the baseship apart. There was a bloodbath … Cylons believing that he was an abomination that had to be destroyed fighting other Cylons who believed no less strongly that he was a miracle sent to us by God. Thanks to the centurions, the latter group prevailed, but it took a month to bring him back from the edge of death … to heal him in body and mind just enough to see him safely home. I didn't know about any of this, of course … I was still on Caprica, working undercover. But he sought me out. He confronted me with the truth, and I defected right then and there. And I have been working ever since to make sure that humans survive—all in the hope that one day we'll be able to live in peace … have more children. It's our fondest dream, Sam, to have children. No Cylon-Cylon pairing has ever produced a child, and I see no reason to hope that one ever will. No. We were meant to live with humans, Sam, not destroy you. It's God's will that we come together."

Sam Anders gazed silently upon the tormented Cylon standing opposite him. The revelations had come so thick and fast that he could barely digest them. But he knew truth when he heard it. A Cylon double agent was actively coordinating the human resistance on Caprica.

. . .

Saul Tigh poured himself two generous fingers of whiskey, and savored the smell of it as he raised the glass to his lips. If he had ever earned the right to get drunk, he had earned it this day.

"I guess that it's happy hour," Ellen said. She was sitting across the room, nursing a drink of her own.

"What's happy about it? The Old Man is still in surgery. And I've got a boatload of politicians and press demanding to see Laura Roslin."

"Let them," Ellen shrugged.

"Yeah, right."

"I mean it, Saul. She's crazy."

"Tell me something I don't know," Tigh snickered. He took a long pull on the whiskey.

"No, Saul, she's lost it. She's really, really lost it. She's completely nuts. She doesn't even know where she is any more."

The XO looked carefully at his wife. "It's that bad?"

"Saul, you should let them see her. The press, the Quorum … all of them … I mean, really, the little school teacher's mind has gone bye-bye. Saul, this is your perfect chance to deal her out of the equation. With Baltar removing himself from the picture, that leaves you in total command of this ship, and this fleet."

"Just until the Old Man gets back on his feet."

"Oh, of course, Saul … that goes without saying. Really, it does."

. . .

"Well, he'll live. For a while, it was touch and go … but he'll live." Sherman Cottle was contentedly puffing away on a cigarette. It had been a very long day.

Lee closed his eyes, and said a silent prayer of thanks to the gods in whom he did not believe. "When will dad wake up?"

That earned a knowing chuckle from Doc Cottle.

"Knowing him … when he damned well wants to! Now captain, just leave your father to rest. But we do have another patient who might benefit from your tender loving care." The surgeon nodded at Creusa, who was recovering in the next cubicle.

. . .

Drink in hand, the XO was steadily working his way through the small mountain of paper that had accumulated on his desk when the phone rang. It was Dualla, who was still on duty in the CIC.

"Sir, the Quorum is demanding to see the former president. They're being pretty adamant, and they're giving the sentries a hard time."

"Dee, do you have any idea how many times the word 'demand' has come up today?" Saul was irritated, and he was drunk. It was not a pretty combination. "Maybe we should tell them to shove their demand up their collective asses, hmm? What do you think of that?"

Dee sighed, and made a tippling gesture to Gaeta.

"Yes, sir," she continued patiently, "but I need instructions for the sentries. They're asking how you want them to respond."

"Well, you can tell that collection of political grandstanders that they're going to get to see what's become of their precious president. You can tell them that I'll be along to give them a personally escorted tour of the brig!" Tigh slammed the phone down.

. . .

Tigh was true to his word. "Come on, people, it's viewing time at the zoo." He was leading the Quorum down the long companionway that gave access to the brig, but he was personally convinced that they had not yet managed to get all of the animals into their cages.

"It's so comforting, Colonel, to see that you hold the President in such high esteem."

The XO looked at Tom Zarek with undisguised hostility. _Bloody terrorist. _"Your day's gonna come, laughing boy," he glared. Now move it!"

When the Quorum entered the brig, nothing had changed. Laura Roslin was still curled up in a fetal ball, and she was still talking in disjointed sentences about the sacred scrolls. A few of the Quorum delegates noticed Shelly Godfrey standing in the shadows at the rear of the brig. They glared at her with looks that ranged from contempt to outright hatred.

Suddenly, Roslin stood up, and this time she walked steadily to the front of her cell. She looked from face to face.

"Thank you all for coming," she said. "I have a statement I'd like to make. The attempted military coup against the lawful government of the colonies is illegal, ill-advised, and clearly doomed to failure. I have not resigned the presidency and I will fight this action with everything at my command."

Tigh scoffed. "With everything at your command? People, she's crazy … she's nuts. She thinks that she's a prophet or some such nonsense."

"Just hold on, Colonel," Sarah Porter said. "At least let her speak."

The XO laughed out loud. "My pleasure! By all means, listen to her! What was it you were going on about? The … uh… arrow of Apollo will open the … uh … tomb of Artemis, or some such nonsense."

Laura Roslin refused to be baited. "Everything that I've done," she answered calmly, "is consistent and logical. We have found Kobol, we have found the city of the gods, and now that Kara Thrace has retrieved the arrow _we will open the tomb of Athena, and we will find the road to Earth._"

"Madame President," Porter said with growing excitement, "have you read the Scrolls of Pythia?"

"Many times. And now, thanks to our Cylon friends, I have also had a chance to consider their prophecies. The convergence between Pythia and the Cylon sacred text called 'The Final Days' is amazing … and I do not believe that it is coincidence. I see in all of this the hand of Providence."

"Wait a minute," Zarek interrupted, "just wait a minute. Sarah, you represent Gemenon. You know more about the scrolls and the scriptures than anyone else here. What do we need to know?"

"The scrolls tell us that a dying leader will lead us to salvation."

"She's not dying," Tigh shouted. "She's crazy!'

"I am dying," Roslin bluntly retorted. "I have terminal breast cancer. Doctor Cottle will verify the diagnosis. I have a few months to live. And in that time, I will lead the people to salvation. _All of our people, human and Cylon alike!_" She looked gratefully at Shelly Godfrey. "I will lead this caravan across the heavens. It is my sole purpose. And our children … our two hybrid children … will protect us, and they will find our new home. We will start over, and the endless cycles of violence between man and machine will finally come to an end!"

Sarah Porter got down on her knees, and reached through the bars to clasp Laura Roslin's hands. "Praise be to the gods," she said in a reverential voice. "Here is our salvation!"

Other members of the Quorum came forward to kneel at Laura Roslin's feet, all begging to be touched by the hand of the savior.

"Sergeant of the Guard," Tigh barked, "get these people out of here. Escort them back to their shuttle, and get them off of this ship!"

"Yes, sir," the marine sharply responded. With Venner's help, he was gradually able to clear the room.

The XO looked hard at Laura Roslin, but there was respect in his gaze as well. He knew that he had been deftly outplayed.

When everyone was gone, Laura turned back to Shelly. Not all that long ago, she would cheerfully have tossed the Cylon out the nearest airlock. But the world had moved on, and she was fully prepared to move with it.

"Shelly, thank you. You may have just saved this fleet. I will be forever in your debt."

"It's my home, too, Madame President. I have no place else to go … and even if I did, I would never leave Bill Adama's side!"

. . .

Apollo was sitting at Creusa's bedside when her eyelids began to flutter.

"Hey," he said softly. "How do you feel?"

Creusa's eyes suddenly sprang wide open, and Apollo was surprised to find that she was now fully alert.

"Better," she replied as she stared up into his face and registered his concern. "Much better." She smiled, and reached up to grasp the back of Apollo's neck. No one had ever cared about her well-being before, but Creusa had already discovered that she liked being the focus of this handsome young man's attention. She gently pulled him down, and she kissed him with what she earnestly hoped was the appropriate degree of tenderness. Creusa was only eleven years old, and Apollo was the first man whom she had ever kissed. She did not want to embarrass herself.

"Umm … yum," Apollo stuttered. "Do you always taste this good?"

"Always," Creusa confirmed, her eyes mirroring her delight.

"Well, could you … uh … could you do that one more time?"

"We don't need an audience," she observed. "Do you want to get the curtain?"

Apollo hastily drew it shut, and then he bent down to trap her within his arms. He kissed her, only to pull back and suddenly start wagging a disapproving finger in her face. "Don't do that again," he warned.

Creusa went from being deliriously happy to being hopelessly confused in a fraction of a second. "What?"

"Going and getting yourself shot like this! When Kat came in, she was hugging the floor, she stayed low, and she didn't eat a bullet. But you jumped in proud and tall. Creusa, proud and tall is what gets you killed! Maybe it didn't matter when you had a resurrection ship in the neighborhood, but it sure as hell matters now! So, promise me that you'll be more careful next time. I don't want to find you and lose you all on the same day! All right?"

"All right," Creusa quickly responded. She didn't want _anything_ to spoil this moment. "I promise."

Apollo went back to kissing her. Strawberries had never tasted this good.

. . .

In the briefing room, Colonel Saul Tigh was finally getting around to meeting what was left of the colonial press. For all concerned, it proved a memorable occasion. Tigh had prepared his remarks with care, and he had no intention whatsoever of answering questions.

"The events which took place aboard _Colonial One_ are unfortunate. Laura Roslin's actions in suborning mutiny and sedition among the military could not be tolerated. Therefore Commander Adama was left with no choice other than to remove her from office. Miss Roslin is now resting comfortably aboard this ship, where she will remain until such time as the commander deems otherwise."

The journalists were looking at one another in disbelief. No one had ever filed a story about a military coup. Several of the more veteran reporters wondered if they would even be allowed to file such a story.

"Since Vice-President Baltar has declined to assume the presidency," Tigh continued, "it is obvious that the government cannot function under the current circumstances. I have accordingly decided to dissolve the Quorum of Twelve. As of this moment, I am declaring martial law."


	7. Chapter 7: Resistance

CHAPTER 7

RESISTANCE

Sharon looked down at the bowl of oatmeal, and shuddered. Her stomach was churning, and she was fighting hard to keep from throwing up. Larissa, the human nurse, had assured her that this was just a passing phase, her body's way of protecting her baby from the toxins embedded in the food that they all ingested. However, Sharon wasn't sure that things would prove quite so simple. Larissa had, after all, been talking about human pregnancies. But Sharon was cylon, and there was simply no way to know whether her pregnancy would approximate a human's. At this stage, no one even knew what would constitute a _normal_ Cylon pregnancy.

Of course, Sharon had taken her questions and her doubts into the stream, searching for answers. And John had sensed her presence and reached out to her. He had offered her the knowledge that he had accumulated as a child, had even shared with her the miracle of birth itself. Like so many of her brothers and sisters, she had drawn upon his memories to witness the Six giving birth to Kara Thrace. She understood that he was extending hope to the others, but that in her case it was a question of reassurance. She could feel the First Born's conviction that in the end it would all turn out right, and that her baby girl would be perfection itself.

In the stream, she could also feel his love … not just for her but for all of them. It wasn't sexual but it was all-encompassing—a living flame whose intensity never wavered. And she had responded in kind. The discovery that there were different kinds of love, and that she could feel them, had awed and humbled her. She loved the child growing within her womb, she loved Helo, and she loved John, but her feelings for each of them were different. It was easy now to see why humans had devoted so much time and literary effort to the exploration of love. The mysteries of time and space posed less of a challenge to one's understanding.

Sharon had gone to the hybrid's chamber and knelt beside the tank. It was a pilgrimage that every Cylon on the ship had already made at least once. Reun had permitted Larissa and the Four to run an IV into one of John's veins; for Sharon, as for every Cylon who came to this place, the very sight of it was a slap in the face. Their eyes measured the fluid's slow drip, and their minds grappled with the knowledge that it sustained a life that one moment of blind hate would otherwise have destroyed. On this ship, the true cost of war was a thing easily measured.

Sharon knew … they all knew … that what John shared with them in the stream was a highly edited version of an extremely dark and bloody reality. He refused to show them the last moments of the Six's life, and he politely turned aside every request for information about his own early childhood. But the memories that he did share were a child's memories, and they were infused with a child's emotions. Everything that he offered them was wrapped in pain and terror that he could not quite conceal, and his thoughts were embedded in multiple layers of guilt and shame.

What the Cylons could see of Kara Thrace in the stream was almost equally grim. A wall of pain surrounded her past, and a sense of loneliness that was pervasive. Her entire life was marked by alienation: it was apparent that, on some level, she had always known that she was different. Her sense of relief upon discovering that her mother was cylon flooded the stream, and her easygoing acceptance of her new family was the one bright counterpoint to the bitterness that now ate at so many Cylon hearts.

For the Cylons had done badly by their first two children. Humans would have casually shifted the blame onto the Cavils and eschewed their own collective responsibility, but Cylon psychology had been shaped by the dynamics of a group whose members had little sense of their own individuality. If the Cavils were obviously to blame for the indifference and cruelty to which the children had been condemned, the other models had allowed them to get away with it. They had been naïve and trusting, and others had paid the price. Ultimately, billions of innocent human beings had paid with their lives.

Sharon's daughter would never be cast out, and she would never suffer the abuse that had been inflicted upon Kara by her stepmother. Sharon was determined to protect as well as love her child, and to prove to the entire universe in the process that Cylons could be fit parents. In all of this she possessed one extraordinary advantage, and that was the stream. Here John was already tutoring her, urging her to understand that her thoughts and feelings would shape the psyche of the child maturing within her womb. He could not tell her when her baby would become aware, but he assured her that at some point it would happen. And so Sharon stared at the unappetizing mush set out before her, and tried to think positive thoughts. It wasn't easy.

Helo was still in the shower; the hot water, he said, eased the pain in his leg. Without proper medical attention, the wound that he had suffered on the day of the attacks had been left to heal itself. Simon had taken X-rays, and Larissa Karanis had walked them through the results. It would take time, she had told them, and physical therapy that was long on exercise and short on sympathy, but eventually he would lose the slight but noticeable limp that now hampered his stride.

Sharon accordingly had the refectory to herself—right up until the moment when a half dozen of her sisters walked in to confront her. Some pulled out chairs to sit down opposite her; others chose to remain standing. "Go ahead," one of them said, "ask her." It was only when one of the Eights started to fidget that Sharon was able to figure out which one would serve as their leader.

The Eight, who was dressed in a simple, one-piece jump suit that nicely accentuated her figure, didn't mince words. "Sharon," she said, "we want to have babies, too. Would it be all right with you if we made babies with Helo?"

The query did not take Sharon by surprise, and she had a well-rehearsed answer ready and waiting.

"Yes, I most certainly would mind! Helo is _my_ man … _my_ husband-to-be. So, go find men of your own. There's an entire battlestar out there … a whole fleet! If you want babies, that's fine, but a baby needs a father as well as a mother, and that means a relationship. I know the word doesn't resonate inside the collective, so let me spell it out for you: R-E-L-A-T-I-O-N-S-H-I-P. Find a man that you like. Find a man who likes you. Spend time together, but don't push things too quickly. Let the relationship develop naturally … don't try and force it. Above all, don't let him think that you're desperate or needy, because you'll never see him again!"

"But Sharon, the humans hate us," the Eight responded. "We're machines. We've destroyed their civilization, and all but exterminated their species. Most of them … maybe all of them … they just want to see us dead."

"True enough," Sharon conceded. "The humans hate Cylons in the aggregate … but that does not necessarily mean that they are going to hate you as an individual. Oh, they will if you keep doing things that remind them that you're a machine … so, don't. Behave like a person, and in time they'll respect your individuality. Don't be put off by their hostility, and don't let their hatred get you down. _You wear them down!_ Remember, Kara says that there are three men in the fleet for every woman. They're the ones who are desperate and needy, not you! So smile, be pleasant, and when they say something that really hurts … shed a tear or two. And if you don't know how to cry, learn! Access the subroutine, and practice it. A woman's tears will disarm almost any man because they show vulnerability. Men like to think that they're stronger than women, and most of them relish the chance to get all warm and protective. So reinforce their illusions … be female, not machine. But never forget that there's a fine line separating vulnerability and neediness. Vulnerability attracts, neediness repels. Understand?"

Sharon looked around the gathering, and sighed to herself. _They look so lost. If only the humans could see them right here, right now!_

The Eights were all looking at each other, trying to arrive at a silent consensus. "Sharon," the leader finally said, "we don't understand. How do you know so much about men?"

"Well, let me see … Helo and I were alone together for two months! You don't think I learned a thing or two in all that time? If you really want to find out about men, arrange to have yourself marooned with one of them on a deserted planet for a couple of months. You'll learn! Alternatively, you could all volunteer for Raptor training, and hope for a male instructor. That's as close to alone as you're likely to get around here."

"Sharon," one of the other Eights asked, "can you coach us … teach us how to be … female?"

"Sure," Sharon said. "Let's start with the obvious. I want all of you to get some real names! Don't ever introduce yourself as an Eight; that would be disastrous. Machines have numbers, people have names. And they don't all have the same name! There's no program forcing each and every one of us to be a Sharon. So, why don't we emulate the Sixes? They have lots of different names."

Sharon glared at the Eight sitting opposite her. "Who says that you can't be a Joyce?"

"You look like a Rachel to me," Sharon added as she caught the eye of an Eight standing in the background. She glanced rapidly around the room, spitting out names as she pointed at each of her sisters in turn. "Amanda … Claudia … Julia … Naomi … and if you don't like these names, there are hundreds … maybe thousands more!"

. . .

Karl Agathon thought of himself as an uncomplicated man. He had simple needs, and unrefined tastes. To others a hot shower might seem like one of life's givens, but they had not been forced to wear the same flight suit on Caprica for the past two months. The feel of the hot water flowing over his skin was a luxury to be savored, and Karl was enjoying every idyllic moment. He leaned his head back against the shower wall, and sighed contentedly. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift. Life was good.

"Helo, are you okay?"

The sound of Sharon's voice brought him abruptly back to reality, but when he opened his eyes, he sensed immediately that the lovely and completely naked Eight standing before him was not _his_ Sharon. Two other equally nude Eights had somehow slipped silently into the shower, and he was confident that neither of them was _his_ Sharon as well. One of them looked at him with soulful eyes, and held out her hand to offer him a bar of soap.

"Would you scrub my back?" She glanced down, and a contented smile passed across her face.

They were all looking down, Karl noticed, and they were all smiling contentedly. It only took a moment for Karl to figure out why. He also looked down to discover what all the fuss was about … and belatedly recognized that he was once again hard as a rock. _Sharon's going to kill me_, he thought, _or them. But for sure Sharon's going to kill somebody!_

Nevertheless, Lieutenant Karl Agathon accepted the proffered bar of soap. _Anything to improve human-Cylon relations,_ he sighed. The young officer began obligingly to scrub the proffered backs.

. . .

"Sir?'

"What is it this time, Mr. Gaeta?" Saul Tigh's voice was heavy with fatigue.

"The fleet captains are reporting protests among the civilians, sir. Demonstrations, petitions … even some civil disobedience. It's all over the declaration of martial law. And sir, there's more. The Tauranian refining vessel has stopped refining tylium. They say that if they don't have a voice in the government …"

"Come on, Gaeta," Tigh replied, his impatience growing by the second. "Spit it out!"

"Sir, their captain says that they'll send fuel once the civilian government has been restored. And three other ships are also refusing to resupply _Galactica_ until the President is reinstated."

. . .

"And I got a note from Combat warning about problems with tylium resupply." Apollo was approaching the end of the pre-flight briefing. "So watch your fuel burn until further notice. Questions?"

"Yeah," Stallion said, "can we tank up on the baseship?"

Gonzo roared with laughter. "Ah, what's the matter, Hephaestus? Are you missing Aphrodite?"

"Hey," Stallion protested, "she can teach me how to fly a Heavy Raider anytime!"

"Captain," another pilot cut in, "when are you coming back to the card game?"

"I'm afraid that when I'm off duty I'll be enjoying the intimate surroundings of the brig until … well … until further notice."

"Ah, come on back, Captain," Hot Dog grinned. "We miss you … and your cubits!"

"We could bring the game to the brig," Dragon suggested. He was pretty certain that Lee Adama was the worst card player in the history of the colonial fleet.

"Oh," Lee countered, "I somehow doubt that Colonel Tigh would approve."

"Well, how about sick bay?" Gonzo had decided to rub it in. "We could all pony up some cubits, and help your new girlfriend learn the finer points of Triad."

"Girlfriend?" There was a bland expression on Apollo's face, but there was also a lump in his throat.

"Hey, Captain … it's a battlestar! If you switch from your right hand to your left, everyone's gonna know!" Hot Dog was moving his own right hand up and down in an obscene motion.

"All right … all right," Lee said in an exasperated tone. "Colonel Tigh still can't decide whether or not to integrate the CAP, so as things now stand the Raiders and the Heavy Raiders all stay in the barn. _However!_ We are going to begin cross-training. Racetrack, you and Swordsman are going to show some of the Twos and Eights how to drive a Raptor. Chinstrap, you're first up on the Heavy Raider. Oh, and Stallion? Since you're so eager to learn, you get to learn from the best. Sonja has decided to give you her undivided attention!"

Beano whistled. "Whoa, boy … there's trouble brewing in Caprica City!"

"Okay!" Lee clapped his hands to get their attention. "Skids up in twenty. The three Raptors on the deck have already been cleared for the baseship. Dismissed!"

With the briefing concluded, Apollo headed straight for sickbay, but he had barely entered the companionway when he was intercepted by Dualla.

"Good morning, Dee … fancy meeting you here. How's your day going?"

"About the same as usual," Dualla responded. "But there's trouble brewing in the fleet."

"Oh, I'm shocked," Lee grinned. "Truly shocked. What kind of trouble?"

"Martial law isn't going down too well, sir. There have been protests … demonstrations … why, can you believe it … some ships are even refusing to resupply _Galactica_!"

"And this is the honeymoon period," Apollo sighed. "What's a dictator to do?"

That got a laugh out of Dualla. "I, uh … I wish … sir, I wish that you were in command!"

"Dee …" Apollo warned.

"He's hitting the bottle, sir. He's hitting it hard."

They had arrived at sickbay. "This is where I get off," the CAG remarked. "Thank you for the company, Petty Officer Dualla."

"My pleasure, sir." There was a mischievous twinkle in Dee's eyes. "And sir, I just wanted you to know that I'm keeping your father in my prayers … your father _and_ your new girlfriend."

Apollo stared at Dualla as she continued on down the corridor. _There are no secrets on a battlestar … there are no secrets on a battlestar._ Lee had decided that this would become his new mantra. _And today, I'll make damned sure that the curtain is closed and stays closed! The kiddies don't need to know everything that goes on in my life!_

. . .

"_No, no, no!" _Caprica Six slammed her hand down on the table. Anders and the rest of the C-Bucs had brought her to a derelict cottage, where she was trying to walk them through a new operational plan, but so far without success. "God, forgive me," she went on, "but you humans can be _so aggravating_! How many times do I have to tell you that you're playing the Cylons' game? _There is absolutely nothing to be gained by going around shooting us! We all resurrect!"_

"Sure," Sam retorted, "except we know for a fact that resurrection hurts like hell, and it gets worse every time you do it. So we're sending a message. You want the migraines to stop? Then get off the frakkin' planet!"

"And just exactly how, Mr. Anders, did you come by this little tidbit of information? Who told you that resurrection 'hurts like hell'?"

"We overheard two skin jobs talking about it," Anders answered defensively.

_God, give me strength!_ Caprica was staring up at the ceiling, and praying desperately for inspiration. "Sam, look at me! There are over fifty serious resistance groups in play on the surface of Caprica, and by some absurd twist of fate, the task of keeping you alive and putting more sting in your collective tails has fallen to me. Do you think that this is the first time I've had this conversation? Sam, I've been shot twice in the last week, and I've downloaded three times since the war began. Does it look like I'm suffering?"

Caprica glanced around the room. About half of the groups with whom she had successfully made contact were led by serving or ex-military officers. But the others were led by people like Sam Anders. They had no training and no experience, and their tactics were borrowed from action films in which the hero somehow prevailed against insurmountable odds, typically without receiving so much as a scratch. The professionals didn't like taking orders from a Cylon, but they were sufficiently pragmatic to grasp that saving humans was a far more important tactical objective than killing toasters and skin jobs. It was romantics like Sam Anders who kept ruining her day. They were fixated on killing the enemy, even though the enemy stubbornly refused to die. And the worst of them were never content with just blowing up centurions by remote control, or shooting skin jobs from a safe distance. No, the worst of them had to go and play hero. They weren't happy unless they were risking their lives for the cause, and far too many of them had paid the ultimate price for such foolishness.

Caprica decided to fall back on a tactic that she had used before, with varying degrees of success. The C-Bucs struck her as men and women of action, so she would promise them plenty of it. Shoot the bad guys and rescue the damsel in distress … coming soon, to a theater in your neighborhood.

"Okay, Sam, I give up. Maybe it's for the best. The breeding farms are probably too heavily defended for a group like yours to tackle in any case. They're crawling with centurions, and the Fours and Sixes who run the facilities are all overseers … the best of the best. You can't do anything for the women who have already been processed except relieve their suffering, and the few young women you might rescue probably don't warrant the risk. As for asking you to take the overseers prisoner, so that Commander Adama can interrogate them … no, that would require a level of discipline that you just don't possess. So, stick with your current hit and run tactics, and stockpile supplies wherever you can find them. We'll leave the hard targets to surviving military personnel."

Caprica Six got up to leave. Hers was a two-front war, and she had been neglecting affairs in Caprica City for far too long. Boomer's repeated attempts at suicide, and Natalie's ruthless destruction of two baseships, had injected slivers of doubt into the collective. Caprica Six meant to turn those doubts to her advantage. John's instructions in this regard had been explicit. Diaspora's success had never hinged upon the destruction of the cylon species- far from it- but the odds would improve dramatically if the Cylons could be persuaded to give up the war. He had tasked her to found a Cylon peace party, but he had also counseled her to be patient. Wait upon events. He had repeatedly advised the agent whom they had code named Brandywine simply to wait upon events. Don't force them … don't rush them. Timing is everything, he had stressed, but it was better by far to strike late than to be premature.

Caprica Six, who was now the ranking Colonial Secret Service officer in the twelve colonies of man, was convinced that the moment was to hand. She would harvest the broken ones first—a groundswell that in due course would turn into a tidal wave. And the Cavils would never see it coming.

Sam Anders reached out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her back to the table. He made eye contact, and he refused to allow her to break it. _How many centurions would we be going up against, and what does their deployment look like? How much time do we have to get in and out? How do you go about restraining overseers so that they don't break all of our necks in the middle of the night? _The questions went on and on, but to Caprica Six they were an enchanting melody in tune with the deepest recesses of her soul.

. . .

Saul Tigh was in his quarters, seated at his desk. The stack of paper in front of him never seemed to shrink because that damned Dualla piled it up faster than he could deal with it. He sighed heavily.

"You okay, baby?" Ellen knew that administrative routine was not her husband's strong suit.

"No," the XO responded, "I'm not okay. My head feels like it's going to roll off my shoulders!"

Ellen stood up, and walked over to knead his shoulders. "What are you working on?"

Saul shook his head, and let out a long sigh. "I'm trying to figure out how to solve our resupply problem now that half the fleet has gone out on strike."

"Are you serious?"

"I'm deadly serious. I should probably call a summit … you know … sit down with all our ships' captains and explain the situation … tell them why I had to declare martial law."

"Screw them," Ellen scoffed. "Like you have to explain yourself to them!"

"Well, it couldn't hurt, and it might cool things down a little. . . . What?" Ellen had abruptly retreated to the other side of the room.

"Nothing, nothing … you're the boss. Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job. I know that's one of your issues."

Tigh slammed his pen down in disgust. "Just say it."

Ellen shrugged. "I don't know. It just seems kind of … touchy-feely. 'Let's all sit down and talk about how we feel about martial law'. Bill would never do that. But you gotta do what you gotta do. I mean, Bill may never get on his feet again. So, honey … you handle this any way you want. And they'll respect you … eventually."

Tigh glared at his wife, but he also picked up the phone.

"Mr. Gaeta, this is the XO. Send the following to all ships' captains. Message begins: 'resupply operations for this ship are not- repeat, not- optional. All ships to recommence scheduled supply runs immediately. Failure to comply will result in stern measures'. Message ends."

"There," he said to Ellen. "Are you happy now?"

. . .

When Lee Adama reached his father's cubicle, he was not overly surprised to find Brandy Harder and Nathaniel Ferris waiting outside. Their presence told him that Shelly Godfrey was with his father. Since he had no desire to intrude upon her privacy, he decided to join them. _How odd,_ Lee thought. _Harder looks guilty as hell. I wonder if it has to do with Shelly's little excursion to Colonial One?_ Laura Roslin had told him about Shelly's outing upon his return to the brig the night before, and given the number of marines and deck hands who must have been involved, Lee was frankly amazed that _Galactica's_ decks weren't drowning in the details this morning. Either Shelly had more friends than he would ever have credited, or the XO was more generally despised than anyone had heretofore suspected. It felt like the entire ship was actively conspiring to protect the Cylon from Saul Tigh's wrath.

Apollo could just make out the sound of Shelly's voice, but her words remained indistinct. There was a reason why the Cylon was keeping her voice so low.

"Bill, I'm not sure what you want me to do here." Shelly was standing at his bedside, holding his hand. "I can't believe that you would ever countenance martial law, but then you also caught me by surprise when you sent Tigh to arrest the President at gunpoint. Now we're one act of poor judgment … one incident … away from a full-scale civil insurrection, so I'm going to act. I don't think you would approve of what I'm planning to do, but I'm going to do it anyway." Shelly sadly shook her head. "I hope that I'm wrong, because then it won't matter. But if I'm right, if something terrible is about to happen … well, you and I will just have to sort out how my actions affect us when you wake up. I love you, William Adama, and I hope that someday you will understand that I'm trying to protect you."

Shelly bent over to kiss him, and then she left—only to run headlong into Lee Adama.

"Lee! Your father is sleeping, but he seems to be resting comfortably. I didn't have time to check on Creusa, but if she's awake please tell her that she is always in my prayers."

Shelly started to walk away, but then she turned back to face him. "Lee? I want you to promise me something."

Apollo looked at her questioningly.

"Creusa likes you … a lot. But she doesn't know much about humans, doesn't understand how complex you can be. She's naïve enough to take whatever you tell her at face value. That makes her very vulnerable, and I don't want to see her get hurt. Lee, she's not to be used and then casually tossed aside. Do you understand? I want you to promise me that you won't do that. Don't start something here that you are not prepared to finish."

Shelly's outburst took Lee so completely by surprise that it left him at a loss for words. "_I won't"_ hardly constituted an adequate response, but he couldn't think what else to say, and at least it would be heartfelt.

"Shelly, I won't. I promise you. I would never do anything intentionally to hurt her. I won't … I won't make the kinds of stupid, selfish mistakes I've made in the past. I won't push her away."

Shelly smiled, and nodded approvingly. "Goodbye, Lee."

Apollo watched her walk away, and his heart leapt into his throat. Shelly had occasionally wished him a good day or a good evening, but until that moment she had never said goodbye to him. There was a finality to it that left him with a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He called out to her, but Shelly had already turned the corner and disappeared from sight. . . .

Chinstrap and Hog's Breath were waiting for them at the bottom of the ramp. As soon as Shelly, Harder and Ferris were aboard, the Raptor departed for the Cylon baseship.

. . .

"Sir," Gaeta reported, "the refinery captain is still not cooperating. And now seven other container ships are refusing to release their supplies. Food, medicine … even coffee."

"_Coffee?"_ The XO had heard all sorts of idiotic things in his long years with the fleet, but the civvies were giving a whole new meaning to the term ridiculous. "Frak this; it's time to get their attention. I'm sending in the marines. I want a Raptor and an armed marine boarding party for every ship refusing the resupply order."

Gaeta adopted a neutral expression, but his mind was working at a furious clip. He needed to find a way out of this mess before it blew up in their faces! "Sir, we're stretched pretty thin on manpower. I don't think we have enough marine non-coms to command that many boarding parties, sir."

"Then pull pilots and deck officers to command the boarding parties. Tell them to get out there and bring back the supplies. I'm authorizing them to do whatever it takes. Make it happen, Lieutenant."

"_Pilots, sir?"_ Gaeta made no effort to conceal his shock.

"Yes, Mister Gaeta … pilots!"

"But, sir … _whatever it takes_?"

Tigh glared at the young navigation officer. "You heard me, Lieutenant," he roared. "Now … make it happen!"

. . .

When they reached the baseship, Shelly disembarked and headed straight for the control room. She no longer needed Brandy Harder and Nathaniel Ferris to protect her, and she had urged them both to remain behind on _Galactica_._ W_hat she was doing was not only highly dangerous but in Tigh's mind would certainly constitute sedition. The two marines were fully aware of her plans—Shelly couldn't do anything without bringing Harder and Mathias into her confidence—but it had been Erin Mathias who bluntly reminded her that they had all sworn oaths to uphold the _lawful _orders of their superiors, and the Articles of Colonization made no allowance for military coups, never mind martial law. Not every marine, Mathias had stressed, cared enough about the issues involved to raise a stink, but by and large they would support their non-coms, and as a group the non-coms did not take these matters lightly.

Besides, Ferris had told her with a large and lazy grin, Adama had tasked them to look after her, and no one could recall the Old Man making an exception out of the baseship. This was a legal order, so where Shelly went, they went: end of discussion.

For her part, Shelly Godfrey was immensely grateful for their presence. Shelly needed to talk with two people on this ship, and she had no way of knowing in advance how Natalie would respond to her suggested plan of action. With Kara Thrace wandering _Galactica's_ halls inside a protective cordon of centurions, it struck Shelly as symbolically important for her to board the baseship with a marine bodyguard on her flanks. She had already decided that, if push came to shove, she would cover for the two marines with Tigh. The colonel could only airlock her once, but as long as Bill was alive, she did not believe that she was in any serious danger.

The walk to the control room was a long one, but they did not long lack for company. Some of her brothers and sisters merely stopped and stared as the trio passed, but others welcomed her home, and not a few turned around to escort her on her way. Shelly wondered what the two marines thought of the ever increasing sea of identical faces gathering around them, but the two troopers kept their eyes firmly ahead and matched her stride for stride.

In the control room, Natalie greeted her with a brief half smile, which was about as demonstrative as the Cylon commander ever got. Hugs and kisses would have been the human equivalent. Shelly's introduction of Brandy Harder and Nathaniel Ferris did, however, merit a raised eyebrow.

Shelly shrugged. "Sister, what can I say? Kara has centurions and I have marines. It's turned into a very strange war."

No one in the chamber, human or cylon, was inclined to disagree. Natalie looked at Shelly expectantly.

"Sister, Commander Adama did not take it well when our daughter stole his only Raider for her unauthorized mission to Caprica. He arrested Laura Roslin for suborning mutiny within the military, and now Colonel Tigh has declared martial law. There is widespread passive resistance among the civilian captains, and on _Galactica_ itself there is a great deal of uneasiness. With tensions running so high, one spark might well set off a conflagration that would consume what little is left of humanity. Once, that would have served our interests, but I trust that we are all in agreement that this is no longer the case."

Shelly paused to look around the chamber, but again, there were no dissenting voices.

"We cannot, therefore, remain neutral. We must pick a side—military or civilian government. The expedient choice would be to support Colonel Tigh because _Galactica_ has the firepower. The _right_ choice would be to support President Roslin. The Articles of Colonization do not permit the commanders of battlestars to overthrow the civil government, and the President is the only official authorized by law to declare a state of emergency and suspend civil liberties. What Bill Adama and Saul Tigh have done is illegal on its face—and these two marines both know it. That's why I can talk so freely in their presence."

Shelly paused for the second time, and Natalie took advantage of the opportunity to study the two soldiers more closely. If they disagreed with anything her sister was saying, it did not show on their faces.

"Ultimately," Shelly continued, "we must choose between the rule of law, and the law of the jungle. This should not be difficult. I recommend that Cylons deal directly with Colonel Tigh regarding all matters that are strictly military, but that we insist upon negotiating with President Roslin as the constitutional head of state regarding our place in the fleet. If we are going to make common cause, then it seems to me only reasonable that Cylons be accorded the same civil rights that humans enjoy. This will require a majority vote on the part of the Quorum of the Twelve, as well as the President's approval of the resulting statute. Unfortunately, when Tigh declared martial law, he dissolved the Quorum in the process. At the moment, we have no functioning civil government."

Natalie started pacing. The intricacies of human politics were beyond her, but civil rights for Cylons cut to the very core of what this war had ostensibly always been about.

"Civil rights … sister, in their eyes, we're machines. And machines do not have civil rights … machines have 'on' and 'off' switches." Natalie looked directly at Brandy Harder. "It's going to take a very long time to break down the prejudice against us, and we have given humans more than ample cause to hate us all. We came here determined to make good the mistakes of the past, but we do not expect instant forgiveness or acceptance."

"Ma'am, if I may?" Harder was reluctant to enter this conversation, but the Cylon leader had challenged her pretty directly. "The two of us are under strict orders to protect Miss Godfrey … at all costs, Ma'am … _at all costs._"

"Would you die for her, Sergeant?" Natalie was characteristically blunt.

"If that's what it takes," Harder replied without hesitation. "Yes, Ma'am."

"So you think this can work? How about you, Private … do you agree with your sergeant?"

"Ma'am," Ferris laconically responded, "I'm just a simple marine. Most of us have a pretty basic philosophy of life. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend'. That … uh … well, it works for me. As long as we've got each other's six, the rest of it will sort itself out."

Natalie's face erupted into a full-blown grin. "Private, you and I appear to have a very similar outlook on life. If that makes me a simple Cylon, so be it!"

"Sister, I'm glad you feel that way because we're now coming to the hard part." Shelly's eyes swept the room. "If things go as badly as some of us fear … well, contingency plans to release the President from the brig and get her off _Galactica_ are already well advanced. But, there's only one ship in this fleet where the President would be safe from military reprisals … only one." Shelly paused to allow the thought to sink in.

"_Are you serious?"_ The look on Leoben Conoy's face suggested otherwise.

"Very. Because Natalie is correct. This ship may have saved _Galactica_, and by extension the fleet, but you saved it from other Cylons. What you have obtained in return is confusion and doubt, not trust. There are thousands of people in the fleet who will assume automatically that this is just another devious Cylon plot, so you should expect little in the way of gratitude. And it will not be enough to say that we're sorry, and beg for forgiveness. No, given the history of our two peoples, it's going to take a long time to win acceptance, and we will never do so by remaining comfortably aboard this baseship. If there's anything that we have learned on _Galactica_- and by 'we' I mean all of us, humans and Cylons alike- it's that trust, respect … love … flow between individuals, not groups. I have learned to trust many humans, and I hope that there are at least a few who now trust me."

Shelly looked directly at Leoben. She had anticipated skepticism from both the Twos and the Threes because their world view was more rigid than that of the Sixes and the Eights.

"So, this crisis presents us with a challenge, but it also presents us with an opportunity. We declare our support for the rule of law, and we announce our intention to abide by the laws that govern this fleet. We make it clear that, when Cylons in this fleet are damaged or even killed, we require justice, not revenge. _And it will happen … make no mistake about that!_ There are simply not enough marines to keep the peace fleet wide, but we must reach out to every ship in the fleet, not just _Galactica_. The cross-training of our pilots is a good first step, but we must be prepared thoroughly to integrate. And that means inviting humans to live on this ship … _permanently_. Many of the civilian ships are badly overcrowded, and there are orphans in the fleet who are in desperate need of attention and care. We can offer them a home, in the same way that we offer the President and the Quorum a safe haven. They may well reject our overtures, but we keep trying. We build relationships, one Cylon and one human at a time."

"Sister," D'Anna said, "the way you describe things … you make the effort to build bridges sound so completely one-sided. Granted, we have done terrible things to the humans, but they created our forebears to be their slaves, and that is simply wrong. Both sides need to make an effort here."

"And they will," Shelly replied. "I have been talking about what we can do because we can make choices for ourselves, but we cannot impose our choices upon humans. We must allow them to reach out to us in their own way, but we must also recognize when they are attempting to do so."

Shelly reached into her jacket, and pulled out two sheets of paper. The wording on both was identical. She handed one to Leoben, and the other to D'Anna. "President Roslin signed this document earlier this morning. Leoben, please read it aloud."

MEMORANDUM OF DIPLOMATIC UNDERSTANDING

I, LAURA ROSLIN, BEING THE DULY CONSTITUTED HEAD OF STATE FOR THE TWELVE COLONIES OF KOBOL, DO HEREBY RECOGNIZE NATALIE FAUST TO BE THE ACTING HEAD OF STATE FOR THE CYLON NATION, AND DO HEREBY ACCREDIT HER TO SERVE AS AMBASSADOR TO THE GOVERNMENT OF THE TWELVE COLONIES OF KOBOL, WITH ALL OF THE RIGHTS AND PRIVILEGES ACCORDED HER RANK BY THE CAPRICA CONVENTION OF 12.04.01 AU (stat. 14.73[g].3[c-f]).

AT HER DISCRETION, AMBASSADOR FAUST MAY APPOINT A DEPUTY AMBASSADOR TO REPRESENT THE CYLON NATION BEFORE THE GOVERNMENT OF THE TWELVE COLONIES OF KOBOL IN HER STEAD. THE DEPUTY AMBASSADOR SHALL ENJOY THE SAME RIGHTS AND PRIVILEGES ACCORDED THE AMBASSADOR BY THE AFORESAID PARAGRAPHS OF THE CAPRICA CONVENTION.

BY AFFIXING HER SIGNATURE TO THIS DOCUMENT, THE CYLON HEAD OF STATE ACKNOWLEDGES THAT, IN ACCORDANCE WITH THOSE PARAGRAPHS OF THE CAPRICA CONVENTION OF 12.04.01 AU THAT REGULATE RESIDENT ALIENS (stat. 14.73 [b].1-32), CYLONS RESIDENT WITHIN THIS FLEET SHALL FROM THIS DAY FORWARD BE INDIVIDUALLY SUBJECT TO THE LAWS BOTH CIVIL AND CRIMINAL OF THE TWELVE COLONIES OF KOBOL IN CURRENT OR FUTURE EFFECT.

_Laura Roslin_, _President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol_

WITNESSED ON 22.06.52 AU, THE SIXTY-NINTH DAY OF THE EXODUS, BY _Leland Joseph Adama_ AND _Shelly Godfrey_.

_, _Cylon Head of State_

WITNESSED ON 22.06.52 AU, THE SIXTY-NINTH DAY OF THE EXODUS, BY _ AND _ _.

"Words have meaning," Shelly quietly observed, "and these carry very great meaning indeed. States do not establish diplomatic relations with machines any more than they do with dumb animals. President Roslin is acknowledging that we are a species … _a sentient species_. And governments do not expect machines to obey their laws; only people can obey the law, and they do so as individuals, not as a group. The President is according us personhood … individuality … and it is but a short step to go from being subject to the law to being protected by the law. I have fought for the right to be treated as an individual … to find my place in the universe. And now I know who I am. I may have entered life as just another copy of the number six model, but now I'm Shelly Godfrey, and no one is ever going to take that away from me! Not humans, and most certainly not the Cavils!"

Shelly peered into the faces of her assembled brothers and sisters. The Cylons were a very young species, and they had little sense of history, so she doubted whether her family fully understood the importance of what they had just heard.

"Natalie," she went on, "by signing this document you become our President as well as our ambassador to the human community. But you have to do more. I know that it's a radical idea, but we need a constitution, and we need laws of our own, if only to give humans who come to this ship the comfort of knowing that we do not act randomly or capriciously. We can use the Articles of Colonization as a model, but we can improve upon them. We can make them apply to everybody—Cylon and human alike."

D'Anna passed her copy of the memorandum to Natalie, and the Cylon commander slowly read Roslin's words for herself. Finally, she looked up at her sister.

"Shelly, I can't sign this until we have arrived at a consensus …"

"Then post it," Shelly interrupted. "I want every Cylon on this ship to _see_ this document, not simply discuss it in the stream. And when you do sign, it should be witnessed by a human as well as a Cylon. In the interim, I want to see John and show it to him. He will be so proud, and so pleased! You have no idea how hard he has fought to bring all of us to this moment."

"Sister, our child is not … responsive," D'Anna said. "You may not be able to reach him."

"I'll try … and I'll keep trying until I succeed. John had faith in me from the beginning. He fought for me, fought to give me a chance to find out who I am. Not what … _who_! He wanted me to answer one very specific question. He said that in doing so I would decide the fate of cylon and human alike. He scared me, D'Anna—me, and Bill Adama as well. But I'm no longer afraid because now I know the answer. It's the one he's always hoped to hear, so I'll reach him."

Shelly Godfrey left the control room and, with Ferris and Harder at her side, headed for the hybrid's chamber. Natalie meant to join them, but she had one task to complete beforehand. She had already decided where to post Roslin's declaration, and that was on the remembrance wall. She could think of nothing that would honor Thalia's sacrifice quite so powerfully as this seemingly simple three paragraph admission that, in human eyes, Cylons had finally earned the right to exist.

. . .

In the crowded cargo hold of the _Gideon_, the marines under Flight Lieutenant Joseph Palladino's temporary command were having a hard time of it. The detachment had boarded the _Gideon_ in search of coffee: the precious bean was hardly a strategic resource, but Saul Tigh had decided to make an issue out of it. _"Whatever it takes!"_ The order that had come down from the CIC was explicit, and Palladino guessed that what the XO was really after was getting the civvies to acquiesce to martial law.

But on the _Gideon_, matters were close to spinning seriously out of control. The civvies were intent upon repelling boarders in general and colonial marines in particular.

"People, step back … all right?" Palladino was shouting, but he wasn't at all sure that anyone was paying attention. "We're just here for the supplies! Just stay out of the way, and no one gets hurt! For the last time, step back!"

The barely veiled threat served, however, only further to infuriate the already enraged throng of civilians. Suddenly, canisters of coffee beans began to sail out of the crowd. Two of the marines were struck squarely in the face by the improvised missiles.

"_Step back,"_ Palladino screamed.

A shot rang out. No one was hit, and the subsequent investigation would never determine whether it emanated from the crowd or a panicked marine. A flurry of shots followed.

"_Cease fire! Cease fire!"_ Palladino finally got the marines to stop shooting, but it was far too late. As the crowd parted, it left four fatally wounded civilians on the deck. All four were unarmed.

. . .

"My gods," Roslin exclaimed, "troops shooting unarmed civilians. This is a travesty. Tigh has well and truly stepped over the line. The press will have a field day, and there will be an explosion in the fleet. The ships will begin to splinter; they'll head out on their own, singly or in small groups. The Cylons will be able to pick us off a few ships at a time. Lee, we've got to get out of here, and I mean _right now_!"

"I'm with you, Madame President, all the way!"

"I'm so glad to hear you say that. I want to take Shelly and Elosha with me."

"No disagreements there. Shelly and the Six have worked out a way of getting us to the hangar deck. And I can get us a Raptor. But we're still gonna need clearance to get off the ship. Shelly thinks that she's got the problem beat."

"She does?"

"Yeah. Madame President, you've got a lot of support on this ship, and it turns out that Shelly and Six have made a lot of friends. And that piece of paper you signed this morning? That really sealed the deal. Shelly's over on the baseship right now, selling it to the rebel Cylons. But she's really there to see John … to see Major Bierns. He's the mastermind, Madame President; in retrospect, it seems pretty obvious that everything he has ever done has been aimed at getting us to stop shooting and start talking. Diplomatic recognition … bringing the Cylons within the jurisdiction of our laws … how long has he worked for this day? And how many others were working with him, Madame President? Bierns was a senior CSS officer: could he possibly have concealed his true nature, and his agenda, from his superiors for all those years? And the rumors that the Cylons had penetrated the Service … General Berriman must have put his own people under a microscope. He must have known!"

"And John and Richard Adar," Laura murmured, "they were inseparable. My gods, John was in the President's office so often during those last two years that they might as well have assigned him a desk."

_Richard,_ Laura thought, _what were the two of you doing? How long were you fighting back against a looming holocaust?_ Laura and the President had been lovers for most of those two years, and so she had been a first-hand witness to the crushing fatigue that had steadily worn him down, and the periodic bouts of despondency that had bordered on full-blown depression. She had attributed his gradual degeneration to the impossible demands of high office—the strikes, the constant wrangling with the Defense Committee, the corruption within the bureaucracy and the judiciary that had reduced his administration to near paralysis. In bed she had tried more than once to get him to open up, but he had never even hinted at the approaching apocalypse. _Was my own survival an accident?_ Laura knew that for months before the attacks, a plan had been in effect that kept at least two members of the Cabinet in space on any given day. _Did you know, Richard? Were you trying to save me?_ Tears began to form in Laura Roslin's eyes. She had always assumed that her survival had been an accident, but suddenly she was no longer sure. She wasn't sure of anything. _Galactica's _conversion into a museum piece, the fact that the ship had been completely disarmed … these things had been heavily publicized. Someone had gone to the trouble of guaranteeing that the battlestar would end up at the very bottom of the Cylons' targeting list. And Ragnar Anchorage, so conveniently teeming with ammunition, missiles, even nukes—and all of it safely hidden away from prying Cylon eyes. Was it merely a coincidence that Ragnar had everything Adama would need to protect the fleet from Cylon attacks? Laura was suddenly desperate to talk to Adama. She wanted badly to know when Ragnar had been supplied, and more than anything else, she wanted to know whose signature had been at the bottom of the inventory update.

"So the only question remaining," Laura said as she refocused her attention on Lee, "is where we go once we get off this ship. We'll have to find some place to take refuge while we rally support among the people."

"No, Madame President … with all due respect, we're not going into hiding. We're transferring the seat of government off _Colonial One_. I know it's gonna take some getting used to, but where we're going is pretty obvious."

. . .

Shelly Godfrey halted at the entrance to the hybrid's chamber. As she had drawn near her steps had begun to falter, and finally she had found herself unable to move. She was trapped inside her memories. She could see herself kneeling on the floor of Adama's quarters, her hands chained behind her back, her spirit broken. _I'm just a stupid, frakked up machine, _she had confessed. _Broken. Who bothers to keep broken machines? _And John, kneeling on the floor beside her, his face etched with a depth of concern that she now understood to be love, had reached out to her. _People who know how to fix them,_ he had replied in that gentle, reassuring voice of his. We're all machines, he had gone on to say, all programmed, and he had promised her that she would never be allowed to fall. Bill will catch you, he had sworn, or I will. Bill, John, Kara … they had all loved her when she was not yet ready to love herself.

Shelly heard footsteps approaching from behind, and she half turned to see Natalie striding towards her. The sympathetic expression on Natalie's face betrayed the depth of her understanding for the anguish that tore at Shelly's heart. Twice, Natalie herself had been riveted to this very spot, so overwhelmed by shame that she could neither advance nor retreat.

"It's hard," Natalie said, "and no matter how many times I come here, it never gets any easier. I'm not like Leoben; I can't pretend that everything that comes to pass is God's will … part of some convoluted lesson plan designed to teach us the meaning of sin and redemption. Perhaps God does want us to learn the meaning of sin—but by repaying unconditional love with twisted hatred? No … that I refuse to believe."

Natalie advanced into the chamber, but stopped to reach back and take Shelly's hand. "Come, sister … we'll do this together."

The two Sixes moved forward to kneel beside the hybrid's tank.

"Reun, this is my sister, Shelly Godfrey. She lives on the _Galactica_. She's John and Kara's friend." Natalie was keeping her voice low and soft. "Shelly, this is Reun. She's family, Shelly. On this ship, Cylons, centurions, the Raiders, the creature we used to call the hybrid … we're all family. There are no mechanical slaves here, and we don't expect the others to do our bidding. We ask for their help, and if Reun disagrees with a proposed course of action, we think very, very carefully about her objections. In fact, I can't even conceive of us doing something to which she is firmly opposed."

Reun extended her hand, which took Shelly completely by surprise. She turned to Natalie, her confusion apparent, but her sister merely nodded encouragingly. With some trepidation, Shelly reached out to take Reun's hand in her own.

A kaleidoscope of images exploded inside her mind, and she heard voices. Millions … no, billions of voices suddenly rolled over her. _The Architect,_ she heard one of them exclaim. _The builder of all our tomorrows,_ a chorus of voices sang out. _The destroyer of worlds,_ still more voices cried in unison. _Slayer of the cylon!_ The sound of it was a thunderous roar, the judgment of billions, and yet curiously devoid of reproach or remorse. And suddenly Shelly was standing on a rocky promontory overlooking a wine dark sea, a baby cradled in her left arm and a little girl clinging tightly to her right side. She had her free arm wrapped protectively around her daughter. _Callista!_ There was no hesitation in her mind, no doubt. Reun was offering her a vision of the future, and instinctively she knew it to be true. It worried her, however, that she couldn't see Bill. _Where was the father of her two little girls?_

"Shel … lee! Nat … lee!" The odd sound abruptly summoned Shelly back to the present. John had opened his eyes, and he was looking at them both with unalloyed pleasure. "Guh … good," he choked. "Shel … lee do guh … good … thing!"

"Good thing," he repeated more softly as Sixes, Twos, Threes, Eights and centurions began streaming into the room.

"Aunt Duh … D … D'Anna," he stuttered as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, concentrating on the words that he was trying to speak. "Aunt Sharon. Leob … Leob … en. My fur … fur … friend."

And then John saw one of the centurions, and his eyes began to glisten. "My brah … my bro … th … th … her."

Behind her, Shelly heard one of the Cylons sob while another kept saying "thank you" over and over again. She knew that a host of prayers had just been answered.

John reached out, offering his hand to Natalie. "Lead. Nat … ahlee lead … guh … good. Save our fam … fam … lee. Love. Juh … Juh … John love famlee. Loves."

Brandy Harder, who was still standing at Shelly Godfrey's side, looked around the room. She was in a state of near shock. Many of the Cylons were weeping unashamed tears. _Anyone_,she raged, _who thinks that these people are just a collection of spare parts needs to have his head examined!_

"Shelly," John told Natalie, "make Shel … lee dep … dep … dep … ah … tee. Help Kar … ra and La … Lau … ra. Find … find … Earth … find home. New home. Hu … man, Cy … lon, chil … chil … chil … ren … one fam … famlee … one home. One home. Pra … per … per … _promise_ me, Natah … lee, prom … ise … one home."

Natalie's face, which was normally so stern, melted in an explosion of tears. "I promise! The prophecies will be fulfilled … I promise!"

"_No!" _John spoke with surprising force, and his grip on her hand tightened. "Not per … per … proph …" He looked at her helplessly, and then he let go of her hand to reach up and clasp her breast. "Guh … good heart. Natah … lee good heart. Pure … pure."

John reached higher still, to caress her cheek, and then to stroke her hair. He opened himself wide, and poured the full measure of his feelings into his eyes. He was desperate for her to understand that it had nothing to do with prophecy … it had never had _anything_ to do with prophecy. He could have used the stream, but he wanted gradually to wean the Cylons off their dependence on the single thing that most suppressed their individuality. He wanted to _talk_ to her.

He smiled directly into her eyes. "Natahlie do … do good be … be … becuz …" Blinking furiously, John stopped to take a deep breath. "Right thing. Natahlie do right thing. Pure heart duh … does … right thing."

Natalie Faust sensed the universe receding all around her. She and John were alone. She peered into his eyes, so unlike any that she had ever seen before, and she knew in her heart that she would love this man until the end of time. She had been expelled from the place of her beginning, but it was a small price to pay for finding her way home.


	8. Chapter 8: Exile

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT**

CHAPTER 8

EXILE

There were two Heavy Raiders in space. In one, Sonja was putting Stallion through his paces. She mercilessly belittled his flying skills, and magnified his every mistake. When he managed to do something right, through gritted teeth she would say something along the lines of _it's about time_. But when the order came through to land on _Galactica_ and retrieve Kara Thrace and one of the squads of her centurions, Sonja allowed Hephaestus Fears to make the approach and landing on his own. She would never admit it, but she had already concluded that the human was a natural in the cockpit. If they could build it, she was confident that the cocky lieutenant could fly it.

Chinstrap had an Eight for an instructor, and she took a far gentler approach. She tutored him all the way down to _Galactica's_ deck, but throughout she kept her hands far from the controls. Rufus Ayers thus became the second human to taxi a squad of centurions off the aged battlestar. Both Heavy Raiders landed in the vast hangar bay where, only a few days before, Natalie had assembled the entire population of her baseship.

And when the pair of Raptors on which the Twos and Eights were training had landed there as well, she summoned them all again. Cylons, humans, centurions, a sprinkling of Raiders, the hybrid child—Natalie brought them all to this meeting place. She mounted a makeshift dais, held up the Roslin declaration, and read it aloud. Her actions were purely ceremonial; the five models had already deliberated among themselves, and consulted with the centurions. Consensus had been quickly achieved. With Larissa Karanis and Leoben Conoy to witness, she signed both copies of the document. Her first official act as Cylon head of state was to appoint Shelly Godfrey to serve as their ambassador to the Twelve Colonies. Her second was to declare the remembrance wall hallowed ground. Suitably framed, the Memorandum of Diplomatic Understanding would be posted there for all to see, and such laws as they might in future choose to adopt would also be set out there on public display. The speech that she delivered was short and to the point. With the treachery of the Cavils firmly in mind, she vowed never to lie to her people and, in the true Cylon way, to represent the popular will.

Racetrack and Skulls brought the new ambassador home. When Shelly exited the Raptor, neither Tigh nor any other officer was there to welcome her, but a small contingent of marines was on hand to salute her. Sergeant Mathias apologized, but also told her in no uncertain terms that henceforth she would have a much larger security detail surrounding her. Being an ambassador, Mathias laughingly reminded her Cylon friend, was a burden as well as a privilege.

The marines escorted her directly to the brig, where Shelly presented Laura Roslin with the credentials that Natalie had hastily concocted for her. Natalie had asked all the humans for their input, but none of them knew anything about diplomacy or its deliberately arcane turns of phrase, so in the end she had adopted Nathaniel Ferris' advice. _Keep It Simple, Stupid_, or _KISS_, was the principle that underlay every page of the marines' training manual. When in doubt, Ferris had told her, say what you mean and mean what you say. Natalie had taken an instant liking to the big, dark-skinned marine, so she had made sure that he did not go back to _Galactica_ with empty hands. Her first unofficial act had been to order a case of ambrosia to be placed aboard Racetrack's Raptor. _To the colonial marines,_ she had inscribed on the top of the case, _with the compliments of the Cylon head of state._

Laura Roslin quickly scanned Shelly's credentials, grinned, and then formally hailed her as "Madame Ambassador." That elicited a laugh from both women. Shelly and Laura were playing political hard ball; for all that it mattered to either of them, Natalie could have drawn up Shelly's credentials in crayon. The President needed a refuge, and diplomatic recognition of the cylon was the price of admission to the baseship. Laura graciously accepted Shelly's credentials, but told her counterpart to pocket the second copy of the memorandum. The two women then calmly set about planning a jailbreak to coincide with the end of Apollo's current shift.

Getting Roslin out of the brig wouldn't pose a challenge- the deeply religious Corporal Venner wasn't about to oppose what he saw as the will of the gods- but getting the disgraced president off _Galactica_ was a different matter altogether. The Six with no name had come up with a plan to get Roslin to the hangar deck, and Lee had brought Racetrack into the conspiracy, which meant that a Raptor would be ready and waiting. The final hurdle was getting clearance to launch. The conspirators had to have a legitimate excuse to get the Raptor off the deck. Shelly had a solution for that problem as well, but it came in two parts, and she confessed to the President that she wasn't at all sure that she could pull off the second one. Hers promised to be a busy afternoon.

Shelly's first order of business was to track down Anastasia Dualla. The petty officer was in charge of communications, hence would be responsible for contacting Elosha and getting her onto Racetrack's Raptor at the appointed hour. Far more importantly, however, Dualla would have to find a surreptitious way to reach all twelve members of the Quorum because Roslin intended to restore the government, and her presidency was only one piece of the equation. Roslin knew that the majority of the Quorum was too timid openly to oppose Tigh, but she needed at least a few delegates to accompany her to the baseship. Without public support from the Quorum, she risked being branded as nothing more than a Cylon pawn. Roslin had no illusions about winning a pissing contest with Tigh, never mind Adama; she had to make this a struggle over principles, not power, or she would be finished before she even got started. But forcing Racetrack to make a grand tour of the fleet would be awkward; Laura and Shelly were relying on Dualla to find a way to get the Quorum onto _Colonial One. _Once there, it would be up to the delegates individually to decide whether or not to cast the die.

Shelly and Laura knew that they could count on Dualla, but Shelly had absolutely no idea how to win over Major Sherman Cottle. Unfortunately, the Chief Medical Officer was the key piece in the whole puzzle.

. . .

"Excuse me, Doctor," Shelly said, "but I need your help. Is Creusa well enough to return to the baseship?"

Cottle took a moment to think about it. "She's out of danger," he replied, "but I would prefer to keep her under observation for another 72 hours. We don't know much about Cylon physiology, so it's better to err on the side of caution."

"Doctor, I need you to clear her … and it would be very helpful if you agreed to accompany her to the baseship. I want you to evaluate Major Bierns at the earliest possible opportunity. But I have to warn you that there's more at stake here. What I'm proposing is dangerous, and arguably in direct violation of your oath as an officer."

Cottle paused to light another cigarette. The man's source was a matter of intense speculation across _Galactica's_ decks. Certainly, his supply seemed infinite.

"Miss Godfrey, did anybody ever tell you that you're a lousy saleswoman?"

. . .

Caprica Six didn't need anyone to point Cynthia out to her. She didn't exactly meet depressed Cylons every day, but this one would be hard to miss. She was sitting by herself, on a park bench at the river's edge. Her shoulders were slumped, and misery seemed to be radiating off of her in waves. Cynthia was so despondent that there had been talk of boxing her.

Caprica decided to stroll along the riverbank. She didn't want to take her sister by surprise, so she took her time. If Cynthia truly wanted to be alone, Caprica wouldn't force the issue.

"Hi, sister!" Caprica paused to survey her surroundings. "It's a beautiful day, and you've chosen a beautiful place to enjoy it. I don't wish to intrude. If you want to be alone, I'll keep walking."

"Caprica … hello." Cynthia looked up at the Hero of the Cylon, who was looming over her. Cynthia supposed that she should feel honored, having a genuine war hero stop to talk with her, but Caprica's presence served only to accentuate her own sense of failure. "No … please." Cynthia gestured to the empty space on the bench to her right. "Please, join me."

"Thank you." Caprica sat down, and for several seconds simply continued to gaze at the bucolic scene laid out before them. "Such a beautiful place," she finally murmured, more or less to herself. "But I remember it as it was before the holocaust. There was so much life here. Now … it feels so dead. Sister, do you ever wonder if we did the right thing? Attacking the humans, I mean."

Cynthia stared at her sister in open-mouthed surprise. Everyone knew that Caprica Six had done more to secure the Cylons' triumph than any other copy in the collective. For their greatest hero to express reservations so openly—it only added to Cynthia's confusion and self-doubt.

"I used to be free of doubt," Cynthia bitterly admitted, "but now I'm consumed by it. It's not every Six, you know, who gets to lose two baseships. I seem to have that honor pretty much to myself. Why they haven't boxed me …" Cynthia's voice trailed off.

"The way I hear it," Caprica replied, "a Six who is singularly free of doubt jumped in and saved _Galactica_ just as you were about to crush Adama once and for all. Maybe the rest of us should be asking ourselves what it is that Natalie knows and we don't."

Cynthia stole a glance at Caprica. Was her sister a mind-reader? After her download, Cynthia had eventually calmed down enough to start thinking—and Caprica had just given voice to the thought that was uppermost on her mind.

Cynthia was tormented by her memories of the human who had bested her so easily out in the forest. She had never forgotten the pitying way that he had looked at her, or his calm assurance that she would one day fight side by side with the very people she now sought to destroy. A Cylon couldn't forget anything, but she had fought hard to suppress that particular memory. She had buried it deep inside her, and had so far managed to keep it out of the stream. But she wondered … she couldn't help but go on wondering day after day … _has Natalie already discovered something that I'm destined one day to know?_

Cynthia badly wanted to talk about what had happened to her. She was a frak-up, and she wanted to know why. Perhaps Caprica, with her long exposure to the human way of thinking, could offer a useful insight or two. Cynthia was willing to take the chance. What, after all, did she have to lose?

"Caprica, after the attacks …" Cynthia hesitated, unsure how to continue. "Did you ever come down and … hunt humans?"

"_No!" _Cynthia could hear the disgust in Caprica's voice. "It's one thing to fight your enemy, even to kill him … but that level of cruelty … no."

"I did," Cynthia confessed. "I took four centurions with me, and for hours I hunted one particular human up in the mountains. He seemed the perfect quarry …" Cynthia shook her head at the memory. "It never occurred to me that he might be the hunter, or that he might think of me as prey! He shot the first centurion at long range … a perfect head shot. He took down the next two with a landmine, and the last one with another head shot … this time, at close range. Then he stepped out in the open, right in front of me. I didn't even know he was there! He was that good. He showed me his hands. They were empty. It was a challenge, and I took it. I knew that I was stronger … faster … and I wanted to kill him up close and personal… break his neck. I charged straight at him, and he did something with his hands. He was so quick! And suddenly I was on the ground, fighting for breath. I couldn't move … whatever he did … it paralyzed almost the whole of my nervous system. I have never hated anyone or anything as much as I hated him in that moment. I expected him to torture me, rape me … something. But he didn't … he didn't." Cynthia could hear the wonder in her own voice.

"Instead, he picked me up and carried me to a nearby tree. He put me down with my back propped up against the trunk. He told me that the paralysis would wear off in about forty-five minutes, and that I'd be fine. He also said that, while I couldn't speak, I could communicate by blinking … once for 'yes' and twice for 'no'. He asked me if I hated humans. 'Yes' … that was easy. Was it because they had created our centurion ancestors to be their slaves? That was also easy. Then he held out his hand and showed me an inhibitor. He wanted to know if we were equally guilty of enslaving the centurions. He was looking for a simple 'yes' or 'no'—and I couldn't give it to him! I couldn't … and I still can't."

"That's odd," Caprica finally decided to say. "I once met a human who made a very similar observation. John hypothesized that a machine intelligence would inevitably fragment into higher and lower orders of function, and that the one would necessarily discriminate against the other … essentially enslave it. He fascinated me because he was the only human I ever met who understood that the key word was 'intelligence', not 'machine'."

"_John? His name was John?"_ Cynthia was looking at her strangely. "The human who captured me … he said that his name was John."

"What did he look like, sister?"

"A man in his mid-thirties, with black hair that was already graying. A lined forehead … I would not describe him as handsome, but he was unforgettable. He had … he had …"

"Unusual eyes." Caprica completed Cynthia's thought.

"Very," Cynthia said with emphasis. The two women stared at one another for a long moment.

"Something is very, very wrong here," Caprica thoughtfully observed. "We have broken humanity's back, and they no longer pose any kind of threat to us. Yet the Cavils insist upon pursuing this merciless vendetta that wastes time and resources better invested elsewhere. Sister, I will not go so far as to say that they are lying to us, but I sense that they are not being completely truthful either. Perhaps Natalie stumbled upon something that they are intent upon keeping from the rest of us … something that turned her against the entire war."

Caprica stared shrewdly at Cynthia. "There's more, isn't there, sister? In the forest, John told you something else … something you're not sharing with me. Please, sister … I feel so uneasy. And the feeling is getting worse all the time."

"I hated him," Cynthia whispered, "and he must have seen it in my eyes. I wanted to kill him so badly! But there was no hate in him; all that I saw in his eyes was pity. I had played my part in the slaughter of over fifty billion humans, and he felt sorry for me! How could that be, sister … how?"

Caprica prudently chose to say nothing. She wanted Cynthia to complete this journey on her own.

"He said … he said that one day I would discover that the Cavils had manipulated and betrayed us all, and that the Sixes would make common cause with the humans. And he promised that in time the humans would forgive us. 'You're an innocent', he said, 'and living proof that innocence can perpetrate great evil. But you are not an evil person because that requires knowledge and intent that you do not possess. The humans will see this; perhaps, in time, you will see it as well'."

"At the end, he asked me to make and keep a promise … not to do this again. He asked me if a loving God would smile upon hunting humans for sport. What could I say? In retrospect, the answer seemed so obvious."

There was an anguished look on Cynthia's face. "And now Natalie has turned against us. Sister, when I downloaded, my first coherent thought was: _it's begun_. Is this our model's fate … to turn against the others?"

"We have to stop killing the humans," Caprica said emphatically, "and we have to stop using them as lab animals. Have you seen the data on the breeding farms?"

Cynthia looked at her blankly.

"Oh, we're only killing the humans _selectively_. Women of childbearing age are being turned over to the Simons for breeding experiments. We're trying artificially to produce a Cylon-human hybrid. I'm afraid that some of our sisters are heavily involved in the program."

Caprica turned pensive. "We're missing something, sister … something important. The humans have an expression—_when you're in a hole, stop digging!_ That's what we need to do— stop the killing while we figure out what's going on. I want us to declare a truce … it makes no sense that we're trying to have children with a race that we're also trying to exterminate. I don't know what Natalie found out, but she's also a Hero of the Cylon, and that has to mean something. I'm tired of being led around like some dumb animal on the end of a leash. I want answers!"

"And I want peace of mind," Cynthia added. "Sister, what can we do?"

"You stay in the background," Caprica recommended. "You have been behaving so oddly that the others are considering boxing you, so work on regaining their trust. Tell them that you have been analyzing your mistakes, trying to learn how to become a better machine. They'll believe that because they want it to be true. I'll talk to the Twos and the Eights as well as our sisters. Perhaps there are others who share our sense of unease … others who are prepared to act. If there is sufficient doubt, I'll try to organize a peace movement."

When the two women parted, Caprica was smiling to herself. John was fond of saying that his role in life was to plant seeds in a garden. He had planted the seeds of doubt in Cynthia's mind, and Caprica was now harvesting the ripe fruit.

. . .

Dualla was walking rapidly down the companionway at Saul Tigh's side. She had an imposing stack of documents on her clipboard.

"Excuse me, sir. If I could just get your signature, I'll be on my way."

The XO hastily scrawled his name at the bottom of each document, but he paused when he got to the bottom page.

"Why are we closing down Causeway B?"

"Integrity testing," Dualla smoothly replied. "The deck got chewed up pretty bad when the centurions boarded us. And we've been getting some pressure drops in there."

Tigh scowled as he approved the work order. "Tell maintenance to get it fixed, Dee. We can't afford to have entire companionways out of commission!"

With the XO on his way to sickbay to check in on Adama, the petty officer beat a hasty retreat to the CIC. She had a lot of calls to make, and none of them were going to be logged.

Two hours later, Anastasia Dualla excused herself and walked out of the CIC. Felix Gaeta trailed her into the Officer's Head.

"Hey, Dee," Gaeta said, "things are pretty frakked up these days, huh?"

Dualla glanced casually at the young lieutenant. "Yeah," she conceded, "things are pretty frakked up most days."

"Well," Gaeta replied, "if people are upset, they should go through the proper channels."

Dee looked at Gaeta, and feigned confusion. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

"I was running some maintenance checks, and I detected a series of unlogged calls going out over the last couple of hours. A lot of the traffic was directed at the _Astral Queen_. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"No, sir," Dualla politely countered. "Off-log calls are strictly against regs." Dee finished washing her hands, and without another word walked out of the Head.

"Yeah," Gaeta said to himself as he watched her walk through the hatchway. "That's right."

. . .

"Good evening, sir," Dualla said as she overtook Apollo in the corridor.

"Evening, Dee. Fancy meeting you here. Is everything good to go?"

"Roger that," the petty officer replied. "Sorry, Captain," she went on, "but I can't stop for chit-chat today." Dualla hastened ahead of Apollo and his marine escort, and disappeared from view.

Moments later, Margaret Edmondson raced around the corner. "Captain! Excuse me, sir, but I'm having trouble with the ordnance tracking on my Raptor. I can't get it to cycle."

Apollo sighed wearily, and turned to address the noncom charged with escorting him back to the brig. "Uh … we're looking at a change of plans, Sergeant. Instead of getting some rack time, I'm going to need a few minutes to do the lieutenant's job for her."

"Not a problem, sir," the sergeant responded. "Will a half hour give you enough time?"

"Enough to fix the damned bird or ground it," Apollo testily remarked.

"Racetrack," he continued, "after you."

. . .

The one-time mental health hospital was about twenty kilometers north of Delphi, and Sam Anders only had to scout it once to conclude that it was going to be a tough nut to crack. It wasn't that the damned place was surrounded by high walls or a forest of concertina wire—the problem was that there was no cover at all. No trees, no brush—even the dead grass was disconcertingly short. With their keen sight and hearing, there was simply no way for the Cylons to miss their approach. Since they couldn't take the toasters by surprise, Sam decided, they would have to make its absence work for them rather than against them.

When the team had returned to their base camp after the meeting with Natasi, he had ordered both Simon and the priest to be shot in both knees. That had put them down, and a heavy dose of morpha had put them out. The amount was so large that it would have killed a human on the spot, but the blond Cylon had warned Sam not to judge by appearances. Double the dose, she had instructed him, and administer another needle every three and a half hours. Put them out and keep them out. She had told him about the Cylon abhorrence of suicide, but she had also stressed that this was driven by a fear of God's divine wrath. Since the Cavils were nihilists, she stressed, they would have no problem with suicide—and that would translate into a quick and bloody end for Sam Anders and his band of resistance fighters.

Looking at the hospital through his field glasses, Sam still wondered whether he was leading his entire group of survivors to their deaths. The plan that he had adopted was simplicity itself, but it was also stupid to the point of insanity. Pulling it off successfully would involve the efforts of not one but two Cylons! Sue-Shaun was in charge of the main assault force, which would approach the graceful double staircase that served as the hospital's main entrance from the east. Rally and Crip Key, who were their two best snipers, would snake through the grass, draw a bead upon two of the patrolling centurions, and blow their heads off. The rest of the main group would then start firing from all around the southeast perimeter, hopefully drawing the centurions into a compact attack formation. An Eight who was loyal to Natasi was supposed to jump in at this point in a Heavy Raider, and blow the centurions collectively to hell. Of course, if Sam had guessed wrong about this exotically beautiful young Cylon, the Eight could just as easily blow his resistance group to hell.

Once the shooting started, Sam and two of his female guerrilla fighters, Jean Barolay and Marta Travis, were supposed to sneak into the hospital through a presumably unguarded door on its northern face, and doggedly follow Natasi herself on a floor by floor search of the entire premises. Natasi swore that she could get any stray centurions lingering about the corridors to stand down; more outrageously still, she swore that she could actually persuade them to change sides! Insanity, but the whole damned operation was insane. How could anyone in his right mind agree to a plan that gave them less than fifteen minutes to check every room for unprocessed captives, find and shut down the power that kept the human baby machines alive, and knock out and carry off the Fours and Sixes who were in charge of this particular facility? Oh, the plan was feasible, but only because it relied upon the Eight to be waiting patiently to spirit the entire assault force, along with any freed captives and Cylon prisoners, back to their base camp on the Heavy Raider.

As the minutes counted down, Sam asked himself for about the thousandth time whether he was the stupidest man left in the universe. If Caprica and the Eight, who called herself Sharon, chose to double cross them, then he was handing over more than fifty humans to the Cylons' less than tender mercies. Was it raw sexual attraction that made him want to trust Natasi? He could believe that without difficulty. She was the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen, and he yearned to postpone the assault long enough to take her behind the nearest tree and frak her brains out. Okay, so Natasi had already seduced him … but what about the Eight? She was beautiful, but he freely conceded that she wasn't his type. He didn't know her, didn't know anything about her … so why did he instinctively trust her? Why didn't he hate her? For about the ten thousandth time, Sam Anders asked himself why he was so frakked up. The machines had virtually extinguished the human race, and he would fight them for possession of Caprica with everything that he had. But he had long since found that he couldn't hate them. He didn't seem to be able to hate anyone or anything at all: on a planet consumed by hate, Sam thought that he must stand out like the proverbial sore thumb.

The shooting started, and Sam counted slowly to fifty. They wanted to give any toasters patrolling the roof along its north face time to evacuate to the opposite side of the building. Then the four of them were on their feet and running across the long stretch of open grass. They reached the door, which mercifully they found to be unlocked. Caprica, Marta and Jean ran off to the right, opening doors along both sides of the corridor as they advanced. Sam went left, clearing the rooms behind them. The corridor ended in an L-junction, and Sam decided to check out the rooms along the abutting corridor as well. He hastened around the corner—and ran headlong into a waiting centurion. The machine promptly raised its left arm, and brought the lethal barrels of its gun to bear.

. . .

"Sorry," the Six with no name said.

"Hey, it's okay," Corporal Venner countered. "Make it look good, Six … but not too good!"

Six felled him with one swift, short jab to the jaw. Shelly Godfrey already had the door to Roslin's cell open, and she hustled the President out into the corridor. With Erin Mathias taking the lead and Brandy Harder and Nathaniel Ferris bringing up the rear, Laura and Shelly headed directly for the hangar deck. The Six departed in the opposite direction. Her instructions were explicit: get to the marines' mess in the shortest possible time, and settle in for a meal and a chat with her human friends. Surround herself with company—and an unassailable alibi.

Shelly and Laura rounded a corner, and ran headlong into a waiting private. The young female marine raised her weapon, and pointed it directly at Laura Roslin's chest.

"Hold it," she yelled. The private looked nervously at the sea of familiar faces. _My gods,_ she thought, _the gunny? Harder? Nathaniel? What's going on?_

Laura Roslin walked up to the panicked marine, not stopping until the barrel of the rifle was resting against her heart. "Private, do you know who I am?"

The young marine nodded silently.

"Good. You and I have something in common. We each took an oath to protect and defend the Articles of Colonization. Those Articles are under attack, as is our entire democratic way of life. Now, my sense of duty won't let me stand here and allow that to happen. So I intend to go through that hatch and get off this ship. You can either stand aside, or you can shoot me. One or the other … you'll have to decide where your duty lies."

"Madame President," the marine stammered.

Roslin reached up, and gently pushed the rifle barrel aside. She continued on her way, and a few minutes later Roslin and her party finally reached the hangar bay. A visibly nervous Lee Adama almost jumped for joy when he saw them approaching.

The President headed straight to the waiting Raptor, but as she approached the ramp she was surprised to discover that Shelly Godfrey was no longer at her side. She turned around, and looked back at the Cylon in obvious confusion.

"Shelly?"

"I'm sorry, Madame President, but I'm not getting on that ship with you."

"Madame President," Apollo hastily intervened, "we do not have a lot of time!"

Laura ignored him, and continued to stare at Shelly, wordlessly demanding an explanation.

"Madame President, I know that this has to be done, but I can't leave Bill. _I can't!_ This action is going to divide the fleet. At the very least, it will create an insurgency against the military, and at the worst … civil war. Someone with a foot in both camps has to be here to help put the pieces back together again. I guess," Shelly added with an air of resignation, "that however unlikely it might seem … that someone is me."

Laura Roslin studied Shelly Godfrey for a very long moment, and then she reached decisively into her pocket and pulled out Natalie's letter of accreditation. She held it out for the Cylon to take. "Madame Ambassador," Roslin formally remarked, "keep this document on your person at all times; it just might save your life." Then she stepped close, and spoke to Shelly in a voice so low that the others could not overhear. "Shelly, avoid Colonel Tigh as much as possible, but when Adama recovers try and get him to see reason. He respects you, Shelly. As much as he loves you, he respects you."

The President looked at the young woman whom she was supposed to but could no longer hate, and offered one last observation: "it's easy to see why." 

When Laura Roslin boarded the Raptor, Apollo was already at the controls—and he wasn't alone. To his infinite surprise, Sharon Valerii was waiting for him. _No,_ Apollo corrected himself, _not the Sharon Valerii but a Sharon Valerii … an Eight._ "Dust Off two-seven," Lee calmly informed the OOD over the radio, "Doc Cottle and his Cylon patient are on board. The checker is green, and we are ready for launch on our medical mission. Request clearance."

Lee cast a questioning look in the Eight's direction. "I'm here to guide you in," the Sharon said, "by the shortest, most direct flight path possible. And yes … I'm one of the Eights whom your Lieutenant Edmondson has been training to pilot a Raptor."

"Good enough," Apollo replied. Behind him, he could hear their passengers chattering.

"Elosha," Roslin was saying, it's so good to see you. Are you okay?"

"Madame President," the priestess replied, "my feet barely touched the ground getting here!"

"I know exactly what you mean," Laura replied in a near breathless voice. In the cockpit, she could hear Apollo talking to the Officer of the Deck. _Standard port three, wilco,_ she heard the captain say, and then they were in motion.

"Sarah … Marshall … Tom," the President said to Sarah Porter, Marshall Bagot and Tom Zarek, "thank you. What you've done … it takes courage … real courage. You've just given me a chance to save not only our government but our whole way of life."

"I'm damned if I'm going to bow and scrape before a brain-dead despot like Saul Tigh," Bagot growled. "And this fleet is _not_ going to accept martial law! Gods help me," the outspoken Quorum member continued as he stared down at the injured Cylon on a stretcher at his feet, "but right now the Cylons are behaving more sanely than our own military. How in the name of all that's holy did we ever get into this mess?"

"Amen," Sarah Porter softly intoned.

Laura turned to look at Sherman Cottle. "Doctor," she hinted suggestively, "I imagine that it must come as a considerable shock to you, finding yourself and your patient hijacked by a body of conspirators determined to oppose an illegal military action and thereby restore the legitimate civil government."

"I took an oath, Madame President," the Major enigmatically replied, "and I don't ask too many questions."

. . .

When it was all over and they were back at their base camp, Sam Anders mentally reviewed the whole operation and marveled at their luck. They had got in and out with minutes to spare, and they had managed to rescue six young women who had not yet been enslaved to the Cylon birthing machines. Even more miraculously, they had not taken a single casualty—in no small part because Natasi and Sharon had remained true to their word.

The putative birthing chamber had been incredibly hard on everyone in the raiding party. A dozen women had been strapped to tables throughout the room, a host of tubes running into and out of their bodies. Sam had looked helplessly at Jean Barolay, the only person in their ranks with any medical training at all, his sense of desperation evident in his eyes. But Jean had just silently shaken her head: they could remove the tubes, but the women would hemorrhage to death right before their eyes.

Sue-Shaun had administered the last rites, and Natasi was on the verge of cutting the power when Sam had stayed her hand. He didn't know why, but it had felt important to him that a human send these tormented souls on their way to the gods. He closed the switch himself, and with that electrocuted these, the latest victims of Cylon cruelty.

They had found three overseers in the facility—a Four and two Sixes. Bullets went into three pairs of knees, and it felt good physically to drag the screaming Cylons out of the building. Sam badly wanted to kill them, and he wanted to make it hurt, but they all understood the consequences of a Cylon download. He derived enormous pleasure, however, from the steady stream of vitriol that the two damaged Sixes directed at their traitorous sisters. He hoped that they would prove equally talkative when the mysterious Commander Adama finally got his hands on them. If the commander wanted to make it a rough interrogation, he would find no lack of volunteers in Sam Anders' camp. For the present, though, Sam had to content himself with a morpha bath. The three captives were put under, and Natasi again took the time to drill into him how important it was to keep them under.

In the late afternoon, the Sharon had flown out in the Heavy Raider, but Natasi had chosen to stay behind. She wanted to talk with Sam about his experience in the corridor.

"I went round the corner," Sam told her in the privacy of his sleeping quarters, "and the toaster … sorry, the centurion … it was just standing there. I almost jumped out of my skin I was so scared. And then it raised its left arm and I knew that I was dead. I mean, I could feel the bullets hitting me even before they shot out of the barrel. But they never came! It's incredible! The machine stared at me with that big red eye, and then it retracted the gun and lowered its arm back to its side. It just stood there. And then, when I eased past it and began to open doors and check out the rooms, it followed me right down the corridor. And now it's outside … I mean, it's right outside that door!" Sam gestured vaguely in the direction of the one door leading out of the room. "It feels like … it feels like it's guarding me. Natasi, I don't understand any of this. I don't want to sound ungrateful or anything, but why am I still alive?"

Caprica Six, Jean Barolay and Marta Travis had eventually caught up with Anders: it turned out that, separately, they had been steadily working their way around the four sides of a long but narrow rectangle. Barolay had brought her rifle to bear on the centurion when Sam had jumped in front of the machine and screamed at her to lower her weapon. Then he had challenged Natasi to make good on her promise to get the hulking machine to change sides. Caprica had removed a small device from the centurion's head- she had called it a telencephalic inhibitor- and then she had gone on to explain that the metallic soldier was now free to make its own choices. And choose it did: from that moment on, the centurion had stubbornly refused to leave Sam Anders' side. The former pro pyramid player was dazed: he had ended the day with five captive Cylons in camp, was playing host to a beautiful Cylon collaborator, and had a centurion for a personal bodyguard. _Life,_ he thought, _cannot possibly get any stranger._

Caprica took Sam gently by the hand, and led him over to sit on his cot. She sat down beside him.

"Sam," she asked with extraordinary gentleness, "tell me about your parents."

"There's not much to tell," Sam instantly responded. "In fact, there's nothing to tell. I'm an orphan. I don't know a damned thing about either my father or my mother."

Caprica continued to hold Sam's hand, and to gaze at him with those incredibly luminous eyes that threatened to swallow him whole.

"Sam, do you remember what I told you about John, our first born child? He was an orphan, too. On the baseship, where we tortured him, the centurions did not initially recognize him. But when they discovered the truth, they became fanatically loyal. We know that the centurions are able to communicate among themselves, but we know little else. It may be that this centurion … recognized you." Caprica stared at Sam, watching as the implications of her remark swept through him.

Sam's eyes went very wide. "Do you mean," he swallowed hard, "do you mean that I could be a Cylon, or at least half a Cylon?"

"There are very few possibilities here, Sam," Caprica conceded, "and those are the two most obvious ones."

"But if I was a Cylon," Sam protested, "wouldn't you know it? Seriously, Natasi … wouldn't you know me?"

Caprica silently shook her head. "Sam," she finally admitted, "there are five Cylon models about whom we know nothing. They are shrouded in mystery. But you are also the right age to be one of our children. John is in his mid-thirties and Kara, our daughter, is in her late twenties."

Caprica closed the tiny distance that separated them on the cot. "Sam," she asked, "do you hate me?"

"_What?"_ The question had taken Anders completely by surprise. "Of course not. Natasi, whatever gave you that idea?"

"Sam, I'm cylon. Whatever you may turn out physically to be, your psychological reality is that of a human. You should hate me on sight, reject me as a machine. Don't you hate all the other Cylons?"

Sam could see that Natasi was serious, so he weighed his answer carefully. "I hate what you've done to us, and when I saw that breeding chamber, I wanted to kill every Cylon in sight. And I wanted them to suffer, the same way that they've made us suffer. But do I hate them? I don't think so. Sorry, Natasi, maybe I've just been desensitized, but I seem to have lost the capacity to hate."

"What about the centurions, Sam?" Do you hate them?"

"No," Sam responded emphatically. "I'm afraid of them, sure, but hate them? What's the point of hating a machine that blindly follows whatever orders are programmed into it?"

"You say that you're afraid … but in the hospital you turned your back on a centurion that you expected to kill you on sight. You walked down a hallway, knowing that it was behind you the whole way. And when your friend went to shoot it, you stopped her. Why did you do that, Sam? Did you feel some kind of … connection?"

Sam slowly shook his head. "Natasi, I can't explain it. I just knew that the centurion was no threat, so there was no reason to destroy it."

"John told me that, the first time he went among centurions, he felt this powerful sense of connection. From the very beginning, he regarded them as his brothers. I was hoping …" Caprica shrugged her shoulders. "I guess I was hoping that, upon reflection, you would realize that you felt something."

"Natasi," Sam whispered, "I do feel something … but not for the centurions." He leaned towards her, and when she offered no resistance, he kissed her. He reached out to pull her closer, and she kissed him hard in return. Sam cupped her breast, and kissed her again; high altitude training did not involve sexual calisthenics, and a post-apocalyptic world offered few opportunities for intercourse of any kind. It had been months since Sam had felt the touch of a woman's lips.

Caprica's lips parted, and Sam began exploring the inside of her mouth with his tongue while he gently massaged her nipple with the palm of his hand. She moaned with pleasure, the low mewing sound of an intensely sexual woman who had been denied the joy of intimacy for far too long. Caprica leaned back and urged Sam to his feet, but only to allow them both to remove their tops. He drove her back against the wall and pinned her arms over her head; he began to nibble and suck on her neck and breasts while Caprica gently bit into his shoulder one moment and nibbled on his earlobe the next.

Sam could feel himself harden long before he released Caprica from his grip, long before he felt her hands drop to his waist. Her questing fingers grazed his hardness, and then she was at his belt, frantic to free him from the prison of his clothing. Sam brutally tore her pants off, and was momentarily shocked to discover that she was not wearing panties. The moment passed, and he thrust two fingers inside her. Caprica was already wet, so he met no resistance as he began to stroke back and forth, teasing her engorged mound with each pass. He bent over and took one of her golden breasts into his mouth, his lips and fingers immediately finding a rhythm that left Caprica gasping for air.

The Cylon raked the inside of Sam's thighs with her fingernails, and then she began to tease his organ. Moaning with pleasure, Sam was distracted just long enough for Caprica to disengage and drop to her knees. She took him in her mouth, and used her tongue and lips to send shudders coursing through his body.

Caprica pulled back, and looked up into his eyes, which were fevered with passion. "Come to me, Sam," she pleaded, the words rolling out of her like liquid fire. She fell back onto the floor, her legs spread wide, inviting; Sam dropped to his knees, grasped her head in his hands, and leaned forward to slide his tongue deep into her mouth. He mounted her, and began to thrust, harder and harder. Caprica raised her legs and crossed them behind his back, pulling him still more deeply inside her. She found his rhythm, and their two bodies moved as one, climaxing in the end in a chorus of overlapping cries.

This was sex—raw, passionate need. Later that night, they joined again, but the second time was marked by tenderness—the slow, mutual exploration of entwined lovers, each intent upon learning the source of the other's pleasure. In the morning, Caprica tried to slip quietly away, but Sam would have none of it. She was wearing a pair of his trousers and walking by the cot, looking for her top, when Sam reached out to grab her. Her creamy breasts were hanging mere inches from his mouth. "Such a tease," he murmured, as he pulled her down once more.

. . .

"Sir," Gaeta announced, "Corporal Venner has just reported that the former President is missing."

"Missing?"

"Yes, sir. Two men down … her cell is empty."

"_Gods damn it,"_ Tigh yelled, _"alert security! Set condition two! No one gets on or off the frakkin' ship!"_

"Attention," Gaeta calmly intoned into his microphone, "set condition two throughout the ship … repeat, set condition two throughout the ship."

The lieutenant pretended to consult the screen in front of him before turning back to address Colonel Tigh. "Sir, the flight log indicates that a Raptor departed the ship two minutes ago. It's Doc Cottle, on a medical run."

"Medical? Confirm that," Tigh ordered.

Gaeta once again examined his computer screen. "Sir, DRADIS shows their transponder bearing as 287, carom 003 … range currently 27 MU's."

"What," Tigh exclaimed, "that's the baseship! Get the CAP on the horn and have them intercept … and get Captain Adama out of the brig."

"Sir," Felix cut in, "the OOD confirms that Doctor Cottle is on board the outbound Raptor with an injured Cylon. Sir, Apollo is piloting the Raptor, and the former President is apparently on board as well."

"That son of a bitch," Tigh roared. "Dee, put me through to the Raptor."

"Sir," Gaeta reported, "the CAP has visual on the Raptor."

"Dee, put me on speaker. . . . Turn that ship around, Apollo, or I'll order the CAP to shoot you down."

"With the President of the Twelve Colonies and three members of the Quorum on board, never mind the high priestess of the Sun God? Oh, and did I mention Doctor Cottle and the two Cylons that are also en route to the baseship?" The entire CIC crew could hear the scorn in Lee Adama's voice. "Do what you have to do, Colonel. Apollo out."

The XO looked at Dualla. "Dee, order the CAP to fire across their bow."

"Hot Dog,_ Galactica_," Dee ordered, "fire across their bow. Acknowledge."

"Wilco, _Galactica_," Hot Dog replied. The Viper pilot quickly maneuvered into position, and fired a burst across the Raptor's bow. Apollo ignored the warning.

"Sir," Dualla looked up, "Hot Dog reports that they're not turning around …"

On the open speaker, the entire command staff could hear Hot Dog pleading for instructions.

"_Galactica_, Hot Dog. Requesting instructions. Repeat, Hot Dog requesting further instructions. Do I fire, or not?"

Tigh didn't hesitate. "Dee, tell Hot Dog to hold his fire! Repeat, weapons hold. Do not fire!"

"Hot Dog, _Galactica_. Weapons hold. Repeat, do not fire."

Tigh looked around the CIC. "They couldn't have done it on their own," he remarked. "Did anybody notice any off-log calls? Any scrambled communications?"

"No, sir … nothing," Felix Gaeta blandly stated. Wisely, Petty Officer Anastasia Dualla chose to say nothing at all.

. . .

"Madame President, welcome aboard." Flanked by Kara Thrace and Larissa Karanis, Natalie Faust had been waiting in the landing bay for the Raptor to arrive. Natalie knew virtually nothing about human rituals, but logic dictated that heads of state greet one another in formal terms. "And thank you for bringing my sister home." She glanced down at the stretcher, and was vastly relieved to see that Creusa was conscious and alert. The Six, carried by Apollo and the Eight, had been the last person to disembark the Raptor.

"It's a pleasure to be here, Madame …" Laura Roslin stumbled. "I'm sorry," she continued, "but I don't know how to address you. I do hope that you've chosen something other than 'Imperious Leader'."

Natalie smiled at her human counterpart. "To be honest, Madame President, we're making everything up over here as we go along. And we haven't got around to assigning a title to my office. Why don't you just call me Natalie?"

"Thank you," Laura replied. "Natalie, I believe that you already know Captain Adama, but allow me to introduce Elosha, our high priestess."

The two women acknowledged each other with a slight nod; both were acutely aware of the vast gulf that separated their belief systems.

"And this is Sarah Porter, the Gemenese representative to the Quorum of the Twelve … Tom Zarek … Marshall Bagot. Tom and Marshall are also members of the Quorum."

Natalie politely welcomed the three Quorum delegates, and was intrigued by the very different responses that she elicited in return. The Gemenese female stared at her with thinly veiled hostility. Natalie imagined herself in a large cooking pot, with Sarah Porter stoking the flames and bringing the water to a satisfactory boil. Marshall Bagot was determinedly polite, but Natalie didn't think that the two of them would be sharing an intimate dinner anytime soon. Tom Zarek, however, was in a category all by himself. The notorious Sagittaron terrorist simply looked her up and down, his manner openly appraising. _A political opportunist,_ Natalie instantly concluded, _and a thoroughly self-serving one at that. I can deal with this man._

"And this sour-faced old grouch," Laura said affectionately, "is Major Sherman Cottle, _Galactica's_ Chief Medical Officer."

"Doctor," Natalie said with genuine warmth, "welcome … and thank you for taking such good care of my sister."

"Don't thank me, young lady," Cottle retorted. "The credit goes to my staff—headed, I might add, by Simon O'Neill, one of your Fours. He's a fine doctor," Cottle mumbled, "but he's got a lousy bedside manner." Without further ado, Cottle took out a cigarette and lit up. He looked truculently around the circle of human and Cylon faces, defying anyone to object. No one did.

"Sister," Creusa interrupted, "Doctor Cottle is unduly modest. His staff is very well-trained, and the post-surgical care on _Galactica_ is outstanding!"

Creusa was staring meaningfully at Lee Adama, and Kara Thrace did not miss the look of embarrassment that washed across Apollo's face as he glanced down at her in return. _Oh, really,_ Kara thought. _Lee, you and I are going to have a little chat about the dos and don'ts of dating a Six. And while we're at it, you might try explaining just how the two of you got to be so tight in the first place!_ Kara glared at Lee, who was currently taking a keen interest in the design of the landing bay's high ceiling.

"Doctor," Natalie continued, "I am truly grateful for your presence. We have immediate need of your expertise. This is Larissa Karanis." Natalie gestured toward the dark-haired, young woman standing to her left. "Larissa is an experienced surgical nurse, and she has been caring for John … Major Bierns … as well as monitoring the pregnancy of one of my sister Eights. I hope that you can take the time to consult with her, and to evaluate both Sharon and John."

Natalie looked pleadingly at the gruff surgeon, willing him to understand. "Doctor, Sharon's baby … she will be only the third Cylon ever to give birth. John is our first born, and Kara our second." Natalie's typically stern demeanor softened dramatically when she looked at Kara. "We thought that we were sterile … had given up all hope. The children … Doctor, without them, our species has no future."

Natalie wanted to say more, but the words failed her. But from Sherman Cottle's point of view, she had already said too much. Cottle took a long drag on his cigarette to mask his own increasingly acute sense of embarrassment.

"Miss," he finally said, "I took an oath when I became a doctor, and I don't recall anything in the fine print about treating human patients one way and Cylon patients another. I treat every patient the same damned way! Now, I want this young woman on bed rest for the next 72 hours, and I want her monitored. Do you have the equipment, and is there anybody on board this ship other than Miss Karanis who knows how to use it?"

"We do have facilities," Natalie confirmed, "and a limited amount of medical experience. Show us what to do, and we'll do it."

"Great," Cottle said, his tone of voice suggesting just the opposite. He turned to face Lee Adama. "Captain," he barked, "since you seem to have taken a keen interest in this young lady's welfare, I'm putting you in charge of getting her properly situated. You know the drill, so get to it! I'll be along later to see how you're doing."

Kara glared yet more openly at Apollo. _Yes, Lee, by all means, take charge … and I'll also be along later to see how you're doing!_

Sherman Cottle was oblivious to the torrent of emotion raging all around him. "Miss Karanis," he went on, "it appears that we have patients in need of our care. We also need to get to it."

. . .

"This is just great," Ellen raged. "Bill Adama's little baby boy pulls the wool over your eyes in front of the whole damned CIC, and you let him get away with it." She slapped the table with her palm, causing the whiskey in Saul Tigh's glass to slosh alarmingly. "You're a frakking laughingstock! You didn't want this command? Well, here's a news flash: don't worry about it because you won't have it for much longer. All because when push came to shove, you grabbed your ankles and begged Lee Adama to frak you up the ass in front of the whole damned ship!"

"Gods, Ellen," Saul stammered, "we're talking about his son."

"Saul." The Tighs both looked up in surprise, which instantly turned into outright astonishment. Bill Adama was standing in the hatchway of their quarters, although he was leaning heavily on Shelly Godfrey. The Cylon had her arm tightly around the commander's waist.

"What's happening on my ship?"

. . .

"So we're all in agreement?" Laura Roslin looked around the long, rectangular table, inviting objections. She was seated next to Elosha; Tom Zarek, Marshall Bagot, and Sarah Porter were scattered to their left and right. Natalie sat directly opposite Laura; Leoben, D'Anna, and an Eight who had shocked the other three Cylons by introducing herself as Miranda, filled out the Cylon contingent. Kara Thrace sat by herself, at the head of the table.

"This baseship," Laura summarized, "will serve as the seat of government of the Cylon race, but it will simultaneously become an allied contingent of the colonial fleet. For operational purposes, Natalie will place this vessel under the military authority of Commander Adama, but with a public acknowledgement that the Articles of Colonization require the military to accept civilian leadership. We all return to Kobol, where we will locate the Tomb of Athena, and jointly escort Lieutenant Thrace to the surface. She will take the arrow of Apollo and enter the tomb alone. She will use it to find the way to Earth, and she will guide us there. _All of us. _She will share what she learns with Major Bierns, and the two of them may, at their discretion, choose to share it with the rest of us, but they will be under no obligation to do so. This is a frank admission on our parts that the only thing certain about our collective future is that it will not be easy."

Laura paused meaningfully. "None of us," she finally continued, "should harbor any illusions about what our future will entail. We cannot simply declare peace, and then sit back and expect people with grievances that often span generations to forgive and forget. There's going to be violence, especially and perhaps even exclusively on the human side. There may even be rioting. Humans will target Cylons, but they will also target other humans whom they view as sympathizers or collaborators. There are going to be deaths. I want this to be unmistakably clear—Cylons are going to die in this fleet, and not a few humans are going to die with them. When it happens, we are going to rely upon the machinery of justice to uphold the rule of law. And our system of justice has to be blind … one set of rules that applies to everybody, human and Cylon alike. If it works, then there's a chance that one day we'll actually make it to Earth. If it doesn't … well, Earth won't matter because we'll be too busy tearing ourselves apart out here in space. Does anybody have anything to add?"

"Go slow," Kara suddenly blurted out, "and don't try to do anything in the fleet that hasn't been tested on _Galactica_ first. The military is accustomed to taking orders, even orders that they don't like. Civilians are a different species of animal altogether."

"One thing really worries me," she added, "and that's the very real possibility of religious conflict." Kara stared hard at Sarah Porter. "Some humans are pretty relaxed about matters of faith, but others take a more militant view of the scriptures … and they do not look kindly upon those who disagree with them."

Starbuck shifted her attention to Leoben. "But humans do not have a monopoly on narrow-mindedness or intolerance. There's plenty of that to go around on both sides."

Kara stood up. "You know," she concluded, "on _Galactica _a gathering of this type would close with a prayer, especially with a high priestess in attendance. There are only ten of us in this room, but what could Elosha possibly say that wouldn't offend one or more of us?"

Kara Thrace turned, and without another word left the chamber. _All of this has happened before, and all of this will happen again,_ she mused. _But what is it that happened before? Where does the danger truly lie? Why do we persist in destroying one another, cycle after cycle? Is it really as simple as man versus machine, when there is already evidence to hand that this divide can be overcome? The scriptures,_ Kara admitted to herself, _are riddles, and riddles invite more than one explanation. The right answer's always obvious … but only after the fact ... only after the fact._

. . .

Physically, Bill was far too weak to resume command of the battlestar, so despite Saul Tigh's candid admission that he had made one bad call after another, Adama had no choice but to leave _Galactica_ in his XO's hands. Bill did insist on walking back to his own quarters, but it took a long time, and he wouldn't have made it at all without Shelly to support him. He dismissed the guards as he closed the hatch, and painfully made his way over to sit down on the couch.

"Shelly," he said as he nodded in the direction of the table that served as his liquor cabinet, "do me a favor and fetch the whiskey … and bring two glasses."

Shelly hesitated, uncertainty writ large on her face. "Doctor Cottle …"

"Isn't here to lecture me," Bill finished for her, "and I need a drink. And so do you."

Silently, Shelly crossed the room. She returned with the whiskey and glasses, and put them on the table within Bill's reach. Wordlessly, she sat down on the couch beside him.

Adama reached out and poured a healthy measure of the amber liquid into each glass. He took one, and handed the other to her.

"Bill," she quietly protested as she looked at the glass in her hand, "you know that I don't drink."

"Well, it's time that you learned," Adama tartly replied.

The commander took a long pull on the whiskey. He needed it to fortify himself for what was coming. He loved Shelly Godfrey, he had been ready to die for her … and she had betrayed him.

"So," he finally said, "do you want to tell me how you pulled it off?"


	9. Chapter 9: Quo Vadis?

CHAPTER 9

QUO VADIS?

Shelly was only mildly curious, but he would be expecting the question, so she asked it.

"How did you figure it out so quickly?"

Bill snorted, and Shelly cringed. The sound carried the full measure of his contempt.

"Do you take me for a complete fool? Who's the one person on _Galactica_ with direct access to the baseship, who's also told me to my face that arresting Roslin was a huge mistake?"

Shelly nodded politely, conceding his point. She was staring unseeingly at the glass of whiskey in her hand. She did not dare lift her gaze, but fear of what might await her in Bill Adama's eyes did not solely motivate her. She had learned the value of being submissive, and she was practicing it now for all she was worth. In moments of crisis, the commander was fond of saying that he was playing for all the marbles. _Well,_ Shelly thought, _it's my turn. Now I'm playing for all the marbles! Sixes are supposed to be supremely manipulative; it's about time that I started living up to our reputation!_

She stole a quick glance at Adama from beneath lowered lashes. _Bill, you idiot, you are going to be my husband and the father of my children. But you're a man … I suppose it's asking too much for you to figure out what's going on here on your own. I'll just have to carry you over the finish line … without, of course, ever letting you know that you were even in a race. _

"Do you want the official version, or the unofficial?" Shelly poured a generous measure of dejection into her voice. Bill Adama's pride had been wounded, and she was not letting him out of this room until she had repaired the damage.

"Why do I get the feeling," Adama coldly replied, "that you're going to tell me whatever it is that you want me to hear?"

"That's not fair!" Shelly's eyes darted up as her anger flared. She met his gaze, but she chose not to hold it. "You're just saying that to hurt me. Well, congratulations … you've succeeded." Her eyes dropped once more to the untouched glass in her hand.

"Just get on with it," Bill remarked, his impatience growing by the second. The commander didn't like this side of Shelly Godfrey's personality one little bit. It had been a long time since he had last heard Shelly whine. It wasn't really her style, and it reminded him far too much of his late wife's crude attempts at emotional blackmail.

"The official version," Shelly began, "is that Bill Adama's vicious little Cylon whore persuaded his starry-eyed son to enter into a conspiracy to free Laura Roslin and spirit her off the _Galactica_." Shelly looked up, and this time she refused to look away._ "_The devious and conniving bitch took her friend Corporal Venner by surprise, and used her superior Cylon strength to knock him out with one punch. She freed the President, and by some miracle of good fortune, the two of them made it all the way to the hangar deck without being detected. Captain Adama had a Raptor ready and waiting to ferry Doctor Cottle and an injured Cylon to the baseship. He was also supposed to deliver Sarah Porter, Elosha, Marshall Bagot and Tom Zarek to _Colonial One_, but he faked an equipment malfunction to delay his departure. The Cylon bitch wasn't taking any chances with Colonel Tigh. She took hostages to make sure that Laura Roslin would make it to the baseship in one piece, but she chose personally to remain on _Galactica_ in a vain effort to conceal her tracks."

"It's a ridiculous story, Bill, but it will stand up to casual inspection, and there aren't too many people around here who want to probe more deeply. You can blame me for everything; we're back to playing pin the tail on the Cylon."

Adama took another gulp of whiskey. He wasn't about to let it go at that, and he reckoned that she knew it.

"And the unofficial version?"

"The unofficial version is a good deal more complicated, and it involves a great many people on any number of ships. It's not a pretty story, Bill, and you really don't want to hear it. But if you insist, I'll tell you what you want to know. I made two vows on the day that I surrendered to you, and one of them was never to lie to you. I haven't … and I won't."

"That's very dramatic," Adama curtly replied, "but it's not an answer. I want names."

"Very well, Bill, let's start with the commander of the battlestar _Galactica_ and his XO." Shelly took her first sip of whiskey, and her gag reflex instantly kicked in. She began retching, and it was a while before she could continue. But she knew that she had his full attention. "William Adama and Saul Tigh conspired to overthrow the government in an ill-advised and wholly illegal coup. They stood the Articles of Colonization on their head. President Roslin would be well within her rights to have both men arrested and tried before a military tribunal for high treason. Conviction, and execution by firing squad, would no doubt be a foregone conclusion … _because you're both guilty, Bill! _You and Saul Tigh both need to come to grips with the fact that you've committed treason! I did what I did to save you and your command!"

An astonished look swept across Bill Adama's features. He could not credit what he was hearing. Did the Cylon expect him to take her seriously?

"Oh, that's rich," Adama countered in a voice laden with mockery. He was so angry that he hurled his glass across the room. It shattered against the wall, but neither Bill nor Shelly was paying any attention. "You and Lee organized a conspiracy to free Roslin in order to save my command? Is that the best that you can come up with? Really, Shelly, you can do better than that. Why don't you try again?"

"Bill," Shelly countered, her own voice now laced with frustration, "I warned you that you wouldn't like the truth, but you want it, so you're going to get it. The moment you arrested Roslin, you put a summary end to the power struggle between the two of you … and she won. You need to understand that, Bill … you acted impulsively, and it's cost you dearly. You have no friends out there in the fleet, none at all, and you've used up a lot of capital on this ship that you can ill-afford to squander. Do you really want men and women serving under your command who will stand by and do nothing when you overturn the rule of law? _What were you thinking?_"

Shelly pretended to remember neither the whiskey glass in her hand nor her own strength. But she had forgotten nothing. She squeezed the glass so hard that it shattered. The shards of broken glass cut painfully into her hand, and she instinctively jumped to her feet. Blood began instantly to drip onto the carpet. Bill pulled himself up and slowly made his way across the room. He returned with a towel, and took her wrist. Shelly tried to tear herself away, but he refused to lessen his grip.

"No," he said gently, the anger now banished from his voice; "let me." He began painstakingly to pull the broken glass out of her palm; afterwards, he poured whiskey onto her wounds and used the towel to stanch the flow of blood. Shelly gasped as the alcohol sterilized the cuts, and her eyes went wide. This time she wasn't pretending—the alcohol really stung. _He's hurt me before,_ she reflected, _but this is the first time that he's had to face it. Maybe I can pull this off. _

"Bill, I've bought you some time," Shelly quietly continued. They were standing very close, and her sense of relief was palpable: his anger, which had threatened to destroy them both, had passed. _And you have yet to lash out at me … you've stayed well away from calling me a 'machine'. You're playing fair, Bill, and you don't even realize what that says about your feelings. _

"_Gideon_ was a tragedy, but I tried to make something positive out of it. Laura had you in a box, Bill, and there was no way for you to get out without suffering a lot of damage. Releasing her would have been a candid admission that you had been wrong from the outset. It would have gained you no credit with the fleet, and it would have undermined your ability to command this ship because the crew would have had lingering doubts about who was really in charge. I got you off the hook, Bill, and I put Laura Roslin squarely on it! After the _Gideon_ incident, she was desperate to get off _Galactica_, so I offered her a bargain … asylum on the baseship in return for …" Shelly reached into her pocket with her good hand, and pulled out two sheets of paper. She handed one to Adama.

"I think she would have agreed to anything, but I tried not to be too greedy. I asked her to pay what I thought was a fair price, something that would give us all a better chance to reach Earth. I didn't want her to agree to something today that would strike her as unreasonable tomorrow. I kept asking myself what you would do … what you would agree to. I had help with this, and don't ask me from where … that's the one thing that I have promised never to reveal."

Bill silently read the Roslin memorandum, and then he reread it. The legal citations had to come from somewhere, but Shelly was right … there were things that he really didn't want or need to know. "That's quite a document," he lamely commented as he returned it to her. "It's going to turn the fleet on its head."

"Precisely." Shelly looked deep into Bill's eyes; she wanted him to understand the whole of it. "This is our best shot at the future, Bill, our best shot at Earth. For all the wrong reasons, Laura Roslin has done the right thing. But it is the future, not the present. In the short term, this is going to infuriate the fleet. A lot of people will conclude that the President has sold them out. With Roslin holed up over on the baseship busily devising a Cylon Bill of Rights, people will begin to forget that she was ever under arrest, and those who do remember will probably conclude that you did the right thing."

Shelly placed her wounded hand on Bill's arm; the towel was already soaked with her blood. She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and then plunged ahead.

"Bill, my other vow … it was never again to threaten the barriers that you've erected around yourself. Ever since we first sat on this couch, and I did such a miserable job of trying to seduce you, I've … I've been so afraid of driving you away. But now I don't know what to do, because you are at the center of all my hopes and dreams. It was easy to make that promise to myself when I had no idea what I wanted out of life, but now I know and it's hard, Bill … it's really, really hard."

"Shelly," Adama breathed … but she could not be stopped. Shelly sensed that this was their personal moment of truth: Bill would embrace her, or he would drive her away.

"Bill, I've been trying to protect you against enemies that you don't even know you have. People like Tom Zarek. He's been busy, Bill. While Roslin was in the brig and you were fighting for your life, he was working the Quorum and making his way around the fleet. He's canvassing for votes. He knows that Roslin will have to call an election in a couple of months, and he's going to try for the presidency. He means to supplant her, and then he'll try and get rid of you. He wants one of his own in your job, and if he wins the presidency, he won't think twice about assassinating you to achieve his goal. But I'm not going to let that happen … I will do whatever it takes to protect you."

Shelly paused to look around her. She wanted to freeze the moment, and commit every detail of the commander's quarters to memory. Her memories would serve as the basis for the projection that she would one day offer her children. She was determined to save Bill whether he wanted to be saved or not, but it was time to let him make his choice once and for all.

"This may come down to choosing between the devil you know and the devil you don't, but you also have to fight for us, Bill … for all of us. You can't disown the Cylons to fend off Zarek, and you can't outbid Roslin for their support. You have to find a middle ground … a path of your own. I'll help you … I'll do anything for you, but you have to let me in. You have to release me from my second vow because we won't make it if I have to second-guess everything I say or do. _Us,_ Bill. Do you want _us_ as badly as I do?"

Shelly smiled at him, but it was the weary smile of the defeated … the resigned smile of a woman who accepts that her fate is no longer hers to command.

"There, I've said it. It turns out that I really am a manipulative Cylon bitch. I have been interfering in your life, doing whatever I thought was best for you … and I haven't even signed up for lessons from Ellen Tigh!"

"Shelly," Bill sighed, "I've never seen this side of you! When did you become so bloody-minded?"

"When I fully accepted that I loved you, finally came to grips with the fact that I could never go back to being just another Cylon copy. I don't want to go back, Bill, so even if you disown me, I'll find some way to keep going forward."

She handed Bill the second document, and waited quietly while he read the simple words that Natalie had scripted for her protection. She watched as his lips quivered; she knew him well enough to realize that he was fighting to contain his laughter.

"_Madame Ambassador? I have to call you 'Madame Ambassador'?" _She could see the laughter in his eyes.

"Not in our bedroom, _Commander Adama_!"

Bill turned serious. "Well, Madame Ambassador, there's something that I have to do, and I'm going to need your help."

Shelly looked at him quizzically.

"Boomer," Bill said. "I couldn't have loved her more if she was my own flesh and blood, and I need to say good-bye. Will you come with me?"

"Bill, she's not dead," Shelly objected. "She's clearly downloaded, and you may well see her again."

"No," Bill said, and his tone admitted of no disagreement. "She's dead, Shelly, and she's never coming back. Oh, Sharon Valerii might well walk back into our lives some day, but she won't be the same Sharon. She'll be someone else. My Sharon … the hopelessly inept Raptor wrangler that I loved more than life itself … she's gone, Shelly … she's gone forever. I need to mourn her … I need closure."

"Then we'll do it together, Bill … always, together."

Shelly took Bill's weight, and together they hobbled across his quarters and through the hatch. But Shelly's hand refused to stop bleeding; she needed stitches, and that meant a detour to sickbay. Simon patched her up, but she ignored the openly inquisitive look that he sent her way. Now was not the time for a Cylon heart-to-heart.

_Galactica's_ morgue was right next door. Shelly helped Bill into the icy chamber, where she pulled out the drawer containing Boomer's mutilated corpse. Then she withdrew, and quietly sealed the hatch behind her. She understood the human need for privacy, but she had also come to appreciate its limits. She leaned against the wall, hot tears increasingly staining her cheeks as she listened to the man she loved mourn for the Cylon daughter he had lost.

There finally came a point when it seemed right to her that they mourn Sharon together. She passed through the hatch, sank to the floor at his side, and pulled him into her arms. And Shelly knew that she had won. They would comfort one another, and when they left this awful place, they would leave it together. They belonged to each other now, and no one would ever take that away from them.

"I love you, Bill … _I love you_. And I promise you that one day you will hold another daughter in your arms, and you will love her like you love Sharon."

Shelly Godfrey was a creature of faith, and she did not doubt the vision that Reun had granted her. She would have children … she was certain of it. The tides of life were coursing through her body— and in time she would place not one but two daughters in Bill Adama's arms. She even knew their names.

Inside William Adama, the ghost of Carolanne could finally be laid to rest. He could feel Shelly's good hand nestled against his cheek, and he reached up to press it hard against his skin. He stared directly into the teeth of his fear of commitment, and banished all doubt from his soul. "I love you, Shelly." Such simple words, but so hard to say … so pregnant with meaning.

The floor was cold, hard, and unwelcoming—but to Bill Adama it felt right. He was gentle with her; his ravaged body would not permit unbridled passion, but it hardly mattered. This was their first time, and it was his choice. He knew that Shelly would carry the memory of this moment intact for the rest of her life, so he wanted to make it special for her. He found it so hard to talk about love, to give voice to his feelings, but perhaps he could show her in deeds how he truly felt. He wanted to reach far beyond passion, to that place where love fused not only bodies but minds and hearts and souls. Shelly required tenderness, and he was content to follow her lead. In the presence of death and loss they affirmed the power of love … knowing that it always held out the possibility of new life.

Unless duty and reason could be said to constitute a creed, William Adama had no faith to call his own; he knew, however, that Shelly was devoted to what the Cylons called the One True God. He had long since vowed to respect her beliefs, and if they were blessed with children, he would yield to her desire to raise them in her faith. He was hoping for daughters, hoping that they might somehow fill the seemingly bottomless chasm in his heart. Long ago he had lost a sister to a terrorist's bomb, and it had also claimed the woman who had been first in his father's heart. He was named for a brother who had died at the hands of a gangster whose corruption defiled everything it touched. The Guatrau had worshiped money and only money, but the adolescent terrorist had believed in this same singular divinity.

William Adama did not know how to pray, but he prayed anyway. He silently reached out to the Cylon God, and asked for new life to help ease the burden of all that he had lost. His choice was not capricious, yet it had little to do with his respect for Shelly. He wanted the universe to remember his sister, and for human beings there was but one way to achieve such things. It seemed to him merely just that so omnipotent a divinity return in part that which had been stolen in His name so long before. William Adama prayed for daughters; he had already picked out their names.


	10. Chapter 10: A Return to Olympus

CHAPTER 10

A RETURN TO OLYMPUS

Larissa Karanis led Sherman Cottle down one featureless corridor after another, their destination the makeshift medical facility in which Simon and Larissa had first examined John Bierns. The doctor quickly lost all sense of direction, and he was frankly amazed that the young woman at his side seemed to know exactly where they were going. Passing Cylons stared at him curiously, but no one actually challenged them; his companion, he concluded, was free to come and go as she pleased.

As they made their way deeper into the ship, the major stared with increasingly naked fascination at the pulsating red stream that ran along one side of the corridor walls. It reminded him of nothing quite as much as blood flowing through a major artery. A data stream, his companion explained, causing him to shake his head in frustration. How could anyone expect those few words to serve as an explanation?

The Cylon version of sickbay offered yet more surprises. He was mentally prepared to deal with Simon O'Neill's twin, but the quartet of indistinguishable Eights whom Larissa introduced as her nurse trainees caught him completely off guard. Each, she hastily went on to say, had experience working as either a resurrection or a maternity nurse: the latter was a concept that took some explaining in its own right. The Eights, Larissa enthused, had fantastic patient skills, but they had never seen the inside of a surgical theater. Indeed, by human standards they had no practical nursing experience at all. She was planning to turn them loose on Creusa, but what they really needed was textbooks and training in a fully equipped facility with a competent staff. And that meant _Galactica_. Cottle knew what was coming long before she broached the question. His response was vaguely encouraging- he promised to take the matter up with Tigh- but beyond that he prudently refused to go.

The major carefully examined John's X-rays, but his comments added up to nothing more than a series of uninformative harrumphs. Bierns' blood and tissue samples, in contrast, made the elderly doctor call everything that he had ever learned about medicine into question. Major Sherman Cottle knew his way around a microscope, and his grasp of hematology was first-rate. He instantly recognized, therefore, that according to every medical textbook in existence what he was looking at under high magnification could only be described as bizarre. Major John Bierns was thirty-five years of age, and his blood contained no antigens. None whatsoever. Cottle could well imagine the expression on his face when he looked up. _Tell me I'm dreaming,_ he heard himself say to no one in particular. But the look on Larissa's face told him that he was beating a well-trodden path. John Bierns did not appear to have a functioning immune system, hence should not be alive. He had been exposed to millions … no, trillions of germs … in the food and drink that he ingested, the air that he breathed, through cuts on his skin, the sex act … the list of lethal possibilities was endless. But the CSS officer was unarguably alive, so it followed remorselessly that he had a working immune system, but one with radically different markers. What these might be, Cottle decided, could only be tested when the data base for Cylon-human hybrids had grown much larger.

"Has anyone thought to collect blood and tissue samples from Lieutenant Thrace?"

"No," Larissa was chagrined to admit. "I'll see to it before she next leaves the ship."

"Good … and while you're at it, draw enough blood to start a bank, and tell her to be prepared to keep on giving. If Bierns needs surgery, Thrace is the only donor we've got … _assuming_ that their blood turns out to be a match."

"Speaking of blood banks," Cottle went on as he turned to the Four, "we didn't have much cylon blood on hand to begin with, and after the transfusion we gave the Six during surgery we now have even less. We need to replenish our stock; how much blood can you spare?"

Simon's expression remained impassive as he considered a range of possible answers. "Doctor, we do not have a blood bank on this ship; our resurrection technology has always precluded the need for major surgery, and most of us have opted for downloading in lieu of even minor procedures. Obviously, we have plenty of potential donors, so we can remedy the situation fairly quickly. However, it would be helpful if you or someone on your staff could assist us with protocols and technical procedures. Do you prefer blood, for example, that is heavily oxygenated? What is the optimal temperature for long-term storage, and does our blood have a finite shelf life? Your knowledge in these and other areas may well exceed our own."

"If Laura Roslin's flight to this ship doesn't cause an explosion in the interim, I'll send one of my paramedics over in the morning," Cottle grumpily replied. "Ishay was the lead surgeon on the team that treated your Six, and she will no doubt want to check up on her patient. She can tutor you, and get a blood drive set up. Now, I understand that you have six other human women on this ship besides nurse Karanis. I want to examine them, Major Bierns, and this pregnant Eight of yours. Let's start with Bierns."

. . .

Giana O'Neill stole quietly into sickbay; she was looking for Layne Ishay, but she was also trying to avoid her husband. She knew his routine, and she had timed the moment well. With Doc Cottle currently on board the Cylon baseship, the daily task of evaluating the marines who had been seriously and sometimes critically wounded in the firefight with the centurions fell squarely upon Simon's shoulders. It would be another two hours before his rounds were completed—more than enough time.

Giana did not know Ishay well, but she knew her well enough to trust in her professional discretion. She caught up with the young paramedic in the medical stores locker; Ishay was alone, their privacy assured.

"Layne? Excuse me for interrupting you at work … but I need your help. If now is inconvenient, I can come back later."

"Giana!" Ishay was badly startled. No one except senior medical staff knew the code that granted access to the locker, so it was one of the most infrequently visited compartments on _Galactica_. Ishay had not bothered to close the hatch behind her, and her back was turned, so she had not heard Giana enter. "Gods, but I think you just shaved ten years off my life! Next time, try knocking!"

Giana grimaced. "Sorry! I wasn't thinking … although I don't think my brain's working very well these days anyway."

Ishay looked more closely at Simon's wife, and the professional in her instantly rose to the surface. Something was clearly bothering Giana, and it was obvious that she did not want her husband to know about it.

"Apology accepted," Ishay replied with an encouraging smile. "Now, why don't you tell me what's going on."

Giana fidgeted for a second or two before responding. "Layne, my period … I've missed my period. It's been over a week, and I've always been regular as clockwork. The last time this happened … it was when I became pregnant with Jemma. Do you … uh … do you have any pregnancy test kits on board?"

Ishay gaped at Giana O'Neill. She knew all about John Bierns and Kara Thrace, but along with everybody else she assumed that they were the product of artificial insemination. If Giana was pregnant, she and Simon would be making history.

Ishay looked systematically around the locker. Somewhere on one of these shelves, she muttered to herself, in a large carton. _Found it!_ She moved deeper into the locker, reached up for the box, and pulled it down to the floor. She took out one of the kits and handed it to Giana. Then she looked around for a bedpan.

"I presume," Ishay said, "that you know how to use the kit?"

Giana nodded silently.

"Good. Then I'll give you some privacy. I'll come back in five minutes." Ishay walked through the hatch, and softly closed it behind her.

Giana removed her jumpsuit and panties, and squatted over the bedpan. She was nervous, and it took time for her bladder to relax, but eventually she began to pass water in a steady stream. When she was finished, she paused to don her clothing before dipping the test strip into her urine. She slowly counted to 120 before removing the strip. It had turned blue. Giana and Simon O'Neill were going to have a baby. A blood test would firm up the date, Giana reflected, but when it came to revealing abnormalities the blood work would probably prove useless. She would be giving birth to a hybrid child; clinically speaking, therefore, her entire pregnancy could be considered an abnormality.

. . .

Sherman Cottle had witnessed a lot of strange sights during the course of his long medical career, but the hybrid's chamber made everything else pale by comparison. He tended to see everyone he met as a potential patient, so his autonomic response to Reun was to think in terms of how to treat her. The hybrid was obviously female, at least from the waist up: _could she develop breast cancer?_ _Would she respond to radiation or chemotherapy? Has she ever had a headache? A runny nose? Sneezed?_ One absurd thought after another raced through his agile mind as the hybrid's litany of observations about the ship's current condition caressed the edges of his consciousness.

Cottle was relieved to see that Kara Thrace had preceded them. She was squatting alongside the hybrid's tank; the pair did not appear to be engaged in conversation, but the doctor suspected that in this room communication might take more than one form. Fortunately, Cottle reminded himself, he was here to examine Major Bierns; the mysteries surrounding Kara Thrace would have to wait for another day. But he wasn't about to crawl into a vat filled with rather odd looking goo to conduct even the most rudimentary of evaluations. He wanted to see the major on dry land, so to speak, but the proprietary way in which Reun was cradling the intelligence officer was not an encouraging sign. The major's eyes were closed, and his head was resting gently on the hybrid's left shoulder, but Reun was wide awake, and she was now glaring at the doctor in a way that made his skin crawl. _I'll have to win her over,_ Cottle concluded, _or this will all go nowhere in a hurry._

Sherman turned towards Kara Thrace, and opted to forego his dignity by getting down on his knees beside her. At his age, this was no longer as easy as it had once been.

"Lieutenant," he growled, "would you like to perform the introductions?"

"Sure," Starbuck replied. "Reun, this is Doctor Cottle, _Galactica's_ Chief Medical Officer. He's here to evaluate John, but he's going to need your help. He wants to run a fresh set of X-rays, but we can't bring the equipment here. We have to move John to a proper medical facility. We can't do so unless you give him up."

John Bierns opened his eyes, and slowly lifted his head to stare at his two visitors. A smile crossed his lips.

"Kar … ra! Doc … tor Cah … Cah …" John tried to spit out the rest of Cottle's name, but the phoneme utterly defeated him.

Cottle frowned, and instantly decided to try a new tack. "Major, try my first name. Sherman. Try and say 'Sherman'."

"Sher … man."

"Now try 'vacuum'."

"Vac … cum." John's forehead wrinkled in concentration. "Vac … yum."

"Good," Cottle replied, "that's good. You're doing fine, Major. Now, I want you to try 'coil' and 'girl'."

"Coy," John said, and then a second time. "Gur … gur … gur." He looked helplessly up at Cottle, the last consonant eluding him.

"Now let's try another diphthong. Can you say 'pear'?"

"Purr." John shook his head in frustration, tried again: "peer?" He lifted his hand out of the goo, and splayed his fingers. "Fin … gur … one … too … tree … for … fivuh … fingur. Fis … tuh … han … han … duh."

"Okay," Cottle said soothingly, "it's okay. You're having trouble with diphthongs and words that end with soft consonants, but that's to be expected in a case like this. Sibilants- words like 'rush' or 'hiss'-will also give you trouble at this stage. But you're doing fine with hard syllables. Just be patient, Major, and don't try too hard. Above all, since we don't know the extent of the trauma, try and avoid moving your head around. Keep it as still as you can. Now, I _really_ need another set of X-rays. I want to see if the swelling has gone down, and look for evidence of internal bleeding."

"Okay," John said in reply, then more softly … "okay." He slowly pulled himself around until he was facing Reun, and rested his forehead upon hers. The movement, however slight, had exhausted him. The hybrid wrapped her arms around him, and John turned his head to kiss her lightly on the cheek. No words passed between them, but the gesture was exquisitely tender.

John grasped the side of the vat with both hands, but he lacked the strength to pull himself up, and the IV was in the way. Larissa knelt to remove it from his arm, and a pair of Twos stepped forward to help ease him out of the tub. They moved him as little as possible, so John ended up on his hands and knees, the thick mucus pooling on the floor all around him. Wary of doing anything that would further aggravate the major's head trauma, Simon had opted not to roll Bierns over on his stomach while he was taking X-rays. Without turning him, Thalia had slowly but systematically cut off his clothing before allowing a centurion to carry him to the hybrid's chamber. There Leoben and his brother had lifted John by the ankles and under his arms, but just enough to slide him into the murky tub. They hadn't been looking, and they had all missed it: now, for the very first time, Larissa, Kara, and the Cylons got an unobstructed look at John Bierns' back.

"_Oh, my gods,"_ Larissa gasped. She had seen her fair share of accident victims, but their injuries had been the result of bad luck or poor judgment. Malevolent intent, whether it took the form of a gunshot or a knife wound, tended to be less random, but normally the resulting damage was also more circumscribed. Not like this. One of the D'Annas covered her mouth with her fist while a second stared with wide, disbelieving eyes. _"No,"_ one of the Sixes moaned, _"no!"_

John Bierns had been brutally tortured. From his shoulders to his buttocks, in the not too distant past the major had been whipped and caned mercilessly. Once livid welts crisscrossed his back and his buttocks, but they did not extend to the meaty part of his upper thighs. Someone had been very precise, very calculating. There were burn marks everywhere, even on top of the welts, and Bierns' skin was pockmarked with deep gashes. Sherman Cottle, who was still kneeling on the floor, bit down hard on the bile rising in his throat and moved to examine them more closely. They were disturbingly regular in size, and the spacing was far too precise to be random. _Barbed wire,_ he suddenly thought, _somebody wrapped him in barbed wire … and then what? Did they roll him down a hill? Hoist him into the air and let him drop? _Cottle felt rather than heard the shock that was rolling across the room. _The bastards must have trimmed the barbs around his chest and stomach as well as his thighs, or Larissa and Simon would have noticed. His captors didn't want to take a chance on puncturing anything vital, so they were careful to stay away from the organs and major arteries. And maybe they didn't want him to see the damage … maybe they wanted him to imagine it. Sure, that's why they were so precise … they needed to get inside his head. Gods, but this must have gone on for a long time._

Sherman Cottle twisted around until he was kneeling more or less in front of John Bierns, but Starbuck had got there first. She reached out and gently lifted the major's head, forcing the eye contact that Cottle knew Bierns would give anything to avoid. It was frighteningly obvious that no one on _Galactica_ had ever seen John Bierns with his clothes off. He had clearly gone to elaborate lengths to avoid detection. _He must have avoided all sexual contact,_ Cottle thought, _and he must have been especially careful about showering_. Cottle wanted to be sick, but he willed the professional in him to take control.

"John," Kara softly asked, "when did this happen? Who did this to you?"

"No," Bierns answered. His voice was firm. "No. It … duz … not … mat … ter. My mis … take."

Cottle heard one of the Sixes groan, while one of the Eights spat out a steady stream of curses. There could be only one reason why John Bierns would equivocate, and everyone in the chamber knew it. He was trying to shield his family. Somewhere, somehow, the Cylons had captured an incredible prize—the third most senior officer in the Colonial Secret Service. And they had ended up torturing their own first born child.

"John, you _promised_ me that you would hold nothing back! I have to know!"

The intensity in Kara Thrace's voice sent an involuntary shiver down Sherman Cottle's back. This was a side of Starbuck's personality that neither he nor anyone else on _Galactica_ had ever seen. Cottle held his breath, waiting for the major to respond, but he stubbornly refused to say another word.

_Nine is the number that you seek in the forest of tears. _

Cottle turned his head, to discover that the hybrid was speaking directly to Starbuck.

_Six swims in the stream, seeking atonement for the day of woe. The shedding of blood gives rise to new life, the pattern eternal, cycles never ending. The angel soars on broken wings, paying the price of their deliverance. All of this has happened before, and it must never happen again._

Sherman Cottle did not pretend to understand the hybrid, the ambiguities of her speech passing far over his head. But he was an intelligent man, and well trained. Doctors rarely found the truth without asking a lot of questions, and Cottle had no difficulty framing the ones that really mattered in his mind. _Why is the major still alive? Could he possibly have escaped? If not, why did the Cylons release him? Did all of this take place before the holocaust, or after it? And where do we go from here?_

. . .

Lee Adama was confused, and getting more so by the minute. The lack of clutter in the corridors no longer bothered him, but the longer he stayed on the baseship the more _wrong_ it felt to him. Since he had no intention of abandoning Creusa, Cottle's gruffly delivered command to see to her needs had been superfluous. Apollo and one of the Eights had walked alongside the gurney that carried her from the landing bay to a location that he judged to be in the lower reaches of the baseship's central column. Belatedly, he recognized that he could only guess at their location because nothing was labeled. There wasn't a sign anywhere. He couldn't possibly get lost on _Galactica_, but on this ship he wondered how a guy could avoid getting lost! This was one of the things that felt wrong to him, but there were plenty more.

Creusa's destination was one particular chamber that the beautiful Six had assured him was _hers_. They had reached her room without incident, and now Lee was trying to figure out what exactly it was that made this "her" room. En route they had passed literally dozens of chambers that seemed identical in every respect. Creusa could lay claim to only one piece of furniture—a bed so large that the CAG reckoned it would comfortably sleep half a Viper squadron. But there were no closets and no mirrors, never mind a vanity table. _Where do they keep their makeup and hair brushes? Sonja and the other two … Artemis and Aphrodite … they were all elegantly dressed, and there wasn't a curl out of place. Their lipstick and eye shadow ... everything was immaculate. There's gotta be a mirror around here someplace!_

_And toilets … we didn't pass anything that even remotely resembles a head. She has to go to the bathroom, doesn't she? I mean, Shelly periodically excused herself from the CIC to go use the Officer's Head. . . . _

_Hey, wait a second! Could she possibly have been faking it? Maybe I'd better ask before this gets embarrassing._

"Uh, Creusa … where am I supposed to hang my clothes …"

Apollo caught the look that passed between Creusa and the Eight, and winced. _Gods, Lee, that really went well. Get your frakkin' foot out of your mouth!_

"… and I guess I'd better ask about toilets, showers … all the basics. Nothing around here is obvious."

"Lee," Creusa said teasingly, "I know that you're eager, but do you think that this is what your doctor had in mind when he ordered bed rest? And couldn't you at least have waited until we're alone?"

Much to Creusa's delight, Apollo blushed. Her young god was so emotionally complex, and she badly wanted to explore the whole range of his feelings. There was so much that he could teach her!

"Oh, come on, _Six_. Please don't take everything that I say out of context."

Creusa pretended to be confused. "Lee, you have to admit that you walked right into that one. And besides, I didn't take unfair advantage. Wouldn't Beano or Gonzo have said the same thing?"

Apollo held out his hands in protest. "You're right … you're absolutely right. But I don't especially like Beano and Gonzo, so maybe you should choose some different role models."

"But you treat them just like all the other pilots!" Now Creusa pretended to pout. "Maybe you should give me a scorecard so that I'll know who gets under your skin and who doesn't."

Then she had a flash of inspiration. "What about Starbuck," she asked wickedly. "Would our daughter be a good role model?"

Apollo groaned out loud, which the Eight took as her cue. "Excuse me, Captain," she said, "but if you would like, I'll show you where the nearest facilities are located. And," she added in a deadpan voice that no human could hope to mimic, "I'll ask a centurion to bring a chair, so that you'll have some place to leave your clothes."

Hopelessly outclassed, Lee knew that it was time to sound retreat. "Thank you," he said with as much formality as he could muster, "but we also need to find a pressure cuff, a stethoscope, antibiotic cream, and some fresh bandages. If you can't find what we need, there's a med kit in the Raptor that we can use—it has everything we require and more. And if you don't know how to change a dressing or take her blood pressure, I'll teach you. Every pilot gets a certain amount of medical training—if we go down, there's rarely anyone around to help treat our wounds."

The Eight, who was currently sticking to the name Sharon, looked at Apollo with renewed respect. He had recovered nicely from his verbal blunder, and reminded them all in the process just why he was _Galactica's_ CAG. She could not help but wonder whether all of the men on the ancient battlestar were as interesting as Lee Adama.

. . .

Although Doc Cottle strenuously objected to the unnecessary movement, John Bierns stubbornly insisted on climbing to his feet. While Leoben Conoy steadied him, two of the Eights whom Larissa was training silently draped a sheet over his shoulders, and they did not tie it off until his genitals were hidden from view. Bierns waved Leoben away, and attempted to walk out of Reun's chamber under his own steam. He took two steps, and then his legs buckled. The attentive Eights, who were much stronger than their appearance might suggest, caught him and gently lowered him back to the floor. Bierns did not resist or protest; he was simply too weak and disoriented to go anywhere on his own. Someone went to fetch the gurney that had been used to ferry Creusa from the Raptor to her bedchamber, and Leoben wheeled John directly to Simon's laboratory. The Four took a second set of X-rays, and passed them to Sherman Cottle. The doctor closely examined each film, and then painstakingly compared them with the originals. When he was finished, he wordlessly handed both sets to Larissa Karanis, and he waited patiently while she completed her own independent analysis. In Bierns' presence, Cottle asked Larissa for her verdict.

Larissa looked down at the First Born, and decided to give it to him straight. He had been through worse … he had been through a lot worse.

"Major, the swelling is considerably reduced, which explains how you have been able partially to regain command of your speech function. But I'm concerned about a cloudy area that we're picking up right at the margins of the cerebrum. It appears to be internal bleeding, which means that in all likelihood there's a ruptured blood vessel in that region. I'm sorry, but in my judgment we'll have to operate."

"Thank you." Bierns turned his head so that he could see Doc Cottle. "Doc … tor, do you ag … gree?"

Cottle nodded. "I'm afraid so. Major, I have to tell you that I cannot perform this surgery—it requires very specialized training that I do not possess. However, there's a neurosurgeon on the _Inchon Velle_ who could do this standing on his head. Doctor Gerard is very good, although you'll probably find him somewhat eccentric. In my experience, all the really good ones are a bit … flaky. Cottle didn't like bad mouthing a fellow physician, but he knew Gerard's reputation and he wanted Bierns to have confidence in a specialist who, at first glance, hardly inspired it.

"Okay." John reached out and grasped Cottle's hand. He appreciated the dangers of brain surgery, and he wanted the elderly doctor to be comfortable with the referral. He enunciated his words slowly and distinctly. "I am red … dy, and I like flay … key."

In order to make it easier for the Eights to monitor them both, Larissa recommended that they put John to bed in the chamber next to Creusa's. Muted voices reached out to lull him, and at some point he drifted off to sleep. He did not sense the centurion who brought a chair to his bedside, nor was he aware of Natalie's presence when she came to sit beside him. He did not see the deep concern that etched her features, nor did he hear the quiet but heartfelt prayer that she offered to her God on his behalf. She was gone when he awoke in the morning, but he was not alone. One of the Threes was sitting nearby- _one of my aunts,_ Bierns reminded himself- and he was deeply touched by the concern that he read in her eyes. Compared to the Sixes and the Eights, he judged the Threes to be emotionally stunted.

"Aunt Tree," John said with a small smile. He reached out to take her waiting hand.

"We'll keep you safe," she said without preamble. "I promise you that we won't allow anyone to damage you. Never again. You are our child, and as God loves me, I love you."

There was a resolute look in the Three's eyes, and John knew that she meant every word—but he also understood that the D'Annas believed in the literal truth of Cylon scripture. The prophecies were unambiguous: it was the Guide who would lead the people to Earth, not the Deliverer. True, the texts were curiously silent about the Deliverer's fate, but the spook refused to take refuge in so obvious a dodge. John Bierns had been with the CSS for a long time, and the Lord High Executioner would not have protested if someone called him a cold-hearted, calculating bastard. A part of Ghostrider actively wondered how the Threes could reconcile prophecy and promise, but this was not the time to voice such doubts. He banished the future from his thoughts, and surrendered himself to the present. His aunt was hurting, and he was immensely grateful that, this time, he could do something about it.

. . .

"Well, Sharon, as you might expect, there are no visible signs of pregnancy. So, why don't you walk me through your symptoms."

Cottle paused to light a cigarette, which profoundly shocked Larissa Karanis.

"Excuse me, doctor," she admonished, "but you really shouldn't be smoking in front of a pregnant lady!"

"Oh, I think they'll both live," Cottle growled as he pulled the nicotine deep into his lungs. "Go on, Sharon."

"My primary symptom is morning sickness. It started on the twelfth day, and it hasn't let up. Everything I eat makes me want to throw up, and not just in the mornings. Just the sight or smell of food is often all it takes to set me off."

Cottle did not bother to conceal his surprise. "The twelfth day? Have you been able to pinpoint the moment of conception that closely?"

Sharon nodded. "It's been forty-five days in all."

"Six and a half weeks," Cottle murmured. "Okay," he continued, "there are a couple of tests that I want to run. The first is called an ultrasound sonogram. We use it to measure the embryo. We can often get a good reading at five and a half weeks, and we never have to wait longer than the seventh. The second is a pulsed ultrasound. It measures fetal heartbeat, and the first test is normally conducted around the sixth to seventh week. At this point, we would expect a fetus that is developing normally to score 90 to 110 beats per minute."

Cottle took another drag on his cigarette. "Of course," he reminded her, "we're talking about a regular human fetus here. We don't have any data for a hybrid, so your readings will have to serve as a benchmark for future pregnancies. I'm not happy about this, but I'm going to have to rely on you to monitor your condition from day to day without much input from our medical staff. I would prefer you to be on _Galactica_ so that I can keep an eye on you, but at the first sign of trouble I want you in sickbay stat. Are we clear on this?"

Sharon nodded a second time. Leaving the baseship would put a summary end to much of her anxiety. She didn't question Helo's loyalty, but he didn't appreciate how devious her sisters could sometimes be. It would be just as well to remove him from temptation's path.

"Doctor, I would be prepared to move to _Galactica_ if you truly think that's in the baby's best interest. In fact, I don't see how we can avoid it … Helo can't put off returning to duty much longer, and he's not leaving without me!"

Cottle appraised the young Cylon shrewdly. Not much slipped by him, and he had heard more than one disingenuous comment during the course of his long career. "Fine," he grunted. "I'll take it up with Colonel Tigh as soon as I get back. If he approves, and your friend Natalie doesn't object, I'm sure we can find a billet for you both up in married officer's country." _And let's just pray that no one goes berserk and shoots the only pregnant Cylon in the fleet._

. . .

"So, how are you feeling?"

Starbuck was angry and frustrated, and primed for a fight. She couldn't take it out on John, and Leoben hadn't said anything recently to upset her, so by a process of elimination she had decided to make Lee Adama the object of her wrath. She had expected to find him in Creusa's quarters- indeed, it wouldn't have surprised her if she had found him in Creusa's bed- but he was inexplicably absent. Kara felt somehow cheated, but she hid her disappointment well.

"Surgery really sucks, and the stitches itch. Next time, I'll take Lee's advice, and duck. Eating bullets isn't fun if you can't download."

"Yeah, it's a lot easier to play the hero when you don't have to worry about permanent death. But hey, if you think stitches are bad, try a cast! When I broke my leg, sex, booze … nothing helped. All I wanted to do was scratch. When the cast finally came off, I swear that I spent the first two days doing nothing but scratching. It was like being in Elysium."

Creusa smiled sympathetically. "I'm supposed to stay in this bed for the next 72 hours, and I'm already bored. I think that's why the stitches itch so much … I've got nothing to do except project, but it's hard to conjure up a really nice forest if you can't concentrate."

"I'm surprised that Lee isn't here keeping you entertained. Everybody seems to think that you have him spellbound. By the way, where is our rogue CAG?"

"Right now, he's out chasing down medical supplies. He's volunteered to teach some of the Eights how to dress a wound, change bandages … stuff like that. I think that he went back to the Raptor to fetch a med kit; Lee says that we're not equipped to deal with serious injuries, and I believe him. Some of my sisters would download if they twisted an ankle. And why not? Why suffer pain needlessly?"

Kara laughed. "Well, since you no longer have a choice in the matter, just keep telling yourself that pain and suffering will make you more human! Maybe that'll help!"

Kara turned serious. "Actually, Creusa, I wanted to talk to you about Lee. How did this get started?"

"I'm not really sure. When I was shot, I was just lying there, trying to assess the damage, when all of a sudden he was hovering over me. He had such a look of concern on his face. No one had ever looked at me that way before … it made me feel special. And he's so handsome! I pulled him down so that I could kiss him, and he kissed me back … several times. He must like me because, whenever we're alone, he keeps kissing me. I like the way he kisses me … I like him. He's so … so … alive."

Starbuck put on her best Triad game face. It was painfully clear that Creusa had little if any experience with men, and that Apollo had swept her off her feet by just … well, by just being Lee. _It's weird,_ Kara thought._ Creusa is one of my moms, but it feels like I'm dealing with a younger sister. Who would ever have guessed that I'd end up delivering this particular lecture?_

"Uh … Creusa … there are a few things that you should know about Lee Adama, and really … about men in general. Lee comes from a very dysfunctional family. His father was never there, and his mother was pretty abusive. He turned himself into a target in order to protect Zak, his younger brother. So Lee has a long history of being selfless and concerned, but he also has a real problem with relationships … with commitment. He's very self-contained. He survived his father's neglect and his mother's abuse by building an impregnable fortress around his feelings. He won't let anybody inside, and if he feels threatened, he'll run away. If he's this open with you, it's because he doesn't see you as a threat. You make him feel safe …"

Kara laughed. "… and he really has a thing about blonds!"

She turned serious again. "Look, I guess what I'm trying to say is that, if you become possessive or controlling, he'll flee. And that would be a shame because I think that you're good for him. You're exactly what he needs at this point in his life … a woman who's strong but not threatening. Hell, you're what ninety percent of the men in this fleet need … they just don't know it yet!"

Creusa smiled at the compliment. Kara was so earnest and sincere … a wonderful child, really … and there was a great deal of logic in what she said. But one thing bewildered the young Six.

"Thank you, Kara. I like Lee, and I'm glad that you think I'm good for him. But look around you. Cylons don't have possessions; we share everything!"

Kara rolled her eyes. "Really?" Creusa heard the skepticism in her voice. "So you'd be willing to share Lee with your sisters … the same way that Sharon is willing to share Helo with all the other Eights? Six, you may have shared everything in the past, but perhaps that was because you never possessed anything of value. Now you do. I wonder if you're really as immune to jealousy and possessiveness as you seem to think."

Kara fixed Creusa with a long, hard stare. "I guess time will tell."

. . .

_How ironic,_ Anders mused, _that the nights can be so bitterly cold on a planet that must glow in the dark._ Sam edged closer to the fire, and held out his hands to absorb its warmth. Fire was arguably mankind's greatest treasure, and had been a source of comfort and protection for hundreds of thousands of years. Like the sea, it called to something deep in human DNA. _It calls out to me,_ Sam thought, _and that's also ironic, because after what happened today it's pretty damned obvious that the one thing I'm not is human._

After Natasi left for Caprica City, Sam had quickly organized a raid on a second breeding farm. The target was a hospital on the outskirts of a small town about forty kilometers northeast of Delphi. Even with trucks at their disposal, however, it took the resistance fighters more than six hours to make the journey. They had to stay off the main and secondary highways, which were regularly scouted by Raiders, and the dirt tracks that they followed did not always lead in the right direction. It was mid afternoon, therefore, when Sam pulled out his binoculars to study the target. The hospital abutted fields overgrown with weeds on three sides, and gave way to a large parking lot on the fourth. Sam could see five centurions, two of them up on the hospital roof, but he suspected that they were actually dealing with at least twice that number. Some would be out of his line of sight, but others would no doubt be patrolling the corridors inside the building.

_Build on success,_ the veteran pyramid player reasoned. _Keep exploiting the other team's weakness until they find a way to plug the gap._ The largely unobstructed fields of fire that the centurions enjoyed did not overly concern him. Their deployment seemed identical to that at the mental health facility, and he knew its vulnerabilities. Sam accordingly decided to go with the same diversionary technique that had worked so well the day before. He divided his force into two unequal bodies, and tasked the larger group to create a distraction at the rear of the building. Sam planned to lead the main assault through the entrance to the Emergency Room, which offered somewhat better cover than the hospital's main entrance. _It was a decent plan,_ Anders reflected; _but we'll never know whether it would have worked or not._

Sam's centurion had refused to stay behind, and at the hospital the machine had taken matters into its own metallic hands. While Sam was busy organizing the attack, the centurion had simply set out across the parking lot to intercept one of its red-eyed brothers patrolling the perimeter. The two machines must have communicated with one another because, after a couple of seconds had elapsed, they were both heading straight for Sam's position. Sam's heart leapt into his throat, but he had the presence of mind to note that the newcomer's deadly arms were still hanging at its side, and its gait appeared steady and relaxed. He signaled for everyone to stand down, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the open.

Man and machine stared at each other for a long moment, but it was the machine that flinched. It turned away from Sam, and looked back in the general direction of the hospital. Sam had guessed correctly: a full squad of ten centurions was guarding the premises. He learned this over the next few minutes as, in ones and pairs, the centurions streamed out of the building, crossed the parking lot, and gathered around him. He had started the day with one centurion; he finished it with eleven. _At this rate,_ Sam calculated as he stared unseeingly into the fire, _in less than two weeks the toasters will make up the bulk of our little resistance movement._ Short of having the machines asking him for pyramid lessons, he couldn't imagine how the war could possibly get any weirder.

When Anders finally entered the hospital, he wasn't expecting much in the way of opposition, and he didn't get it. The Four and the Six who were jointly caretaking the facility took one look at the phalanx of centurions surrounding Sam, and surrendered without a fight. The shocked look on the Six's face pretty much mirrored Sam's own feelings. He was about to ask the two Cylons if they recognized him, but the Six preempted him. _You must be one of the Five_, she had said in an awestruck voice. Sam hadn't bothered to kneecap them, not with eleven centurions hovering about, but upon returning to camp he did sedate them. _Just two more overseers for Adama to interrogate_, Anders told himself, _but how am I ever going to explain all these toasters?_

The day had not been without its disappointments. All of the women in the hospital had already been processed. Sam pressed the Four very hard, but Simon had insisted that their captives could not be released without hemorrhaging to death, and the Six had backed him up. After Sue-Shaun had read the last rites, Sam asked Jean Barolay to pull the plug.

Sam was contemplating their next strike when Jean walked up and squatted down a few feet to his left. It was a very cold night, so he was not surprised that she would want to warm herself by the fire.

Sam stole a quick glance at Jean. "So," he asked, "what's the consensus? Am I a Cylon, or not?" Arriving back at their base camp with ten more centurions in tow had pretty much guaranteed that the ancestry of Samuel T. Anders would be the main if not the sole topic of conversation this evening.

Jean snorted. "That's one possibility," she said. "The other is that the toasters are big C-Bucs fans, but that one doesn't have a lot of takers at the moment."

"So where do we go from here?"

Jean looked at him in surprise. "Why, we keep on doing what we do best … and that's kick Cylon ass!"

"Look, Sam," she went on, "you may be a Cylon, but if you're in league with the skin jobs, then you're the best actor in the history of the Colonies! As far as I'm concerned … and I'm speaking for the others as well … if you can keep getting the toasters to change sides, so much the better. We'll take a lot fewer casualties if we've got them running interference for us."

"And that," she added, "brings me to why I'm here. I know that you want to hit another one of the farms tomorrow, but we can't risk becoming predictable. If the skin jobs detect a pattern, they'll set an ambush … and Raiders will make quick work of the toasters. So we switch objectives. The colonial marines had a supply depot about twenty-five kilometers due south of Delphi, which your Cylon girlfriend has designated as a 'soft' target. We have to give the city a wide berth, so it'll take us two days to get there and back, but the toasters can significantly reduce our exposure by locating the tracers and doing a lot of the heavy lifting. It'll give us a chance to load up on MRE's and maybe find some more ammo, not to mention tampons and toothpaste. We also need to scout out pharmacies in the hamlets around Delphi. Blondie's right. If there's a refugee fleet out there someplace, and they come back for us, they'll need every pain killer and antibiotic that we can find. They'll also need razor blades, detergent, diapers … everything from A to Z. So we become scavengers! We run off with everything that we can carry."

Sam nodded in agreement. "That's good. We vary our routine, we stay low, and we move fast. We stockpile everything that's not nailed down. But what are we gonna do about the centurions? I seem to be important to them, and I'm not comfortable with the idea of leaving them behind when we evacuate. I keep hearing this little voice somewhere inside of me, and it keeps saying that the centurions have been mistreated by humans and skin jobs alike."

Sam threw his hands in the air in disgust. "Don't ask me to explain because I can't. It feels like I've developed a split personality. I'm Sam Anders, the pyramid player, and I'm … someone else. I don't know who, but I need to find out before I lose my frakking mind!"

. . .

"So, a lot's happened in the past few days, huh?" Starbuck glanced at the med kit in Apollo's hand; it told him exactly where Lee was heading.

"Yeah, I guess so," Apollo conceded.

"The President goes and gets herself arrested, and you get tossed in the brig while I'm bringing an entire baseship back from Caprica … and turning out to be half Cylon. That's wild."

"Yeah … no arguments there."

"Lee, I need to know that you're not … like … going to freak out over this. You're not, are you?"

"Are you kidding? At least now we know why you're so weird, Kara. I mean, who else would steal a Raider and jump all the way back to Caprica to chase down some frakking arrow that's supposed to open the tomb of a mythical goddess on a planet that no one's visited in thousands of years? I'm really looking forward to watching you try and talk your way out of this one!"

Starbuck tensed, and her eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, Lee … sure … I hear you. But you know, you're not exactly the poster boy for military discipline yourself, right? President Roslin instructed me to steal the Raider and haul ass back to Caprica, but what was your excuse? Who ordered you to stick a gun in Colonel Tigh's ear? Oh, let me guess … it was your conscience, right? I mean, you're always so keen on doing the right thing! Tell me, do you need some help polishing your halo?"

"Frak you, Starbuck!"

"You don't have the time, Lee! Creusa's bored, and she's expecting you to entertain her."

"Damn it, Kara."

"Lee, what the hell is going on in that head of yours? What are you thinking … or has your brain gone completely to mush?"

"Oh, spare me the lecture, Kara. I've already heard it from Shelly Godfrey."

"Really? And were you paying any attention? Lee, do you have the slightest idea what you're doing? Have you told Creusa about Shevon? That would really fill her with confidence."

Apollo inhaled sharply, but Kara was just getting warmed up.

"Yeah, Lee … that's right. You have an uncanny ability to overlook the sometimes inconvenient fact that this fleet thrives on gossip. Did you really believe that no one would notice when _Galactica's _CAG took up with a hooker? Oh, and did I mention all those little presents that you've been giving to her daughter? How do you think Creusa's going to react when she finds out that you've been playing happy family with a fifty cubit call girl from the mean streets of Libran?"

"Kara, you don't know anything about my relationship with Shevon, so back off. You haven't got the slightest idea what the hell you're talking about."

"And you don't know the first damned thing about Creusa! What are you going to do, Lee? Frak her, and then run like hell if she happens to get pregnant? Running at the first sign of trouble seems to be your style. But she's not some cynical, hard ass Viper jock like me … someone who knows the score. She's not fair game, Lee. She's naïve, and you could hurt her really badly. _I do not want that to happen!"_

"Is that what this is really all about Kara? You and me?"

"No, Lee. Starbuck and Apollo … they have a relationship. It's competitive and nasty, and despite the sexual overtones, at times it's downright infantile. But Kara and Lee? Uh, uh. I loved Zak, Lee, and I swear that you don't seem to get it. Zak was all the things you aren't … sensitive, caring, generous … a guy who was willing to take risks, willing to make a commitment. I swear, you're just the opposite. I didn't deserve Zak because I can't keep it in my pants. I would have married him, and then promptly turned into an Ellen Tigh. So don't misread what happened that night in my apartment. That was just me being me … a complete frak-up who'd actually screw her future brother-in-law while her fiancé was sleeping it off on the couch. _It didn't mean anything._"

"So there's nothing there, Kara? Nothing at all? You know, I find that really hard to believe … and so does Gaius Baltar. What'd you do, Kara? Scream out my name while you were frakking the Vice-President?"

"Exactly, Lee … that's exactly what happened. It shows you how messed up I really am. But did it ever occur to you that I might have yelled Zak's name into your ear if we'd gone all the way that night? What's good for the goose …"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But I just think you're jealous … and it's sweet, Kara, it's really sweet. I never knew you could be so possessive."

"You're dreaming it, Lee."

"You really care."

"Dreaming it. Go back to Shevon, Lee. Paying a hooker for it … that's your comfort zone. Just don't take out your problems on Creusa, or any other Six. Unless you're ready to grow up, they're off-limits."

"_Off-limits?" _Lee roared with laughter. "And Kara Thrace is telling me to grow up? Gods, Kara, just listen to yourself … you really are frakked up!"

"I don't deny it for a second." Kara smiled sweetly, but there were fangs lurking behind the smile. "Lee, if you hurt Creusa, I swear that I'll rip them off and feed them to the pigeons."

Lee burst out laughing again. "Pigeons? Kara, there aren't any pigeons in space … well, except for the ones in your hangovers."

"I'll find some," Kara glowered. "You can count on it."

. . .

"We have to start somewhere," Natalie urged; "it might as well be the _Inchon Velle_. We have to send a Raptor or a Heavy Raider for this Doctor Gerard—why go empty-handed?"

It was the following morning, and another, smaller conference was underway. Natalie, Leoben, D'Anna and Miranda once again made up the Cylon contingent, but the human faces at the long, rectangular table had changed. The three Quorum delegates had returned to _Galactica_ with Doc Cottle and six of the human women aboard the baseship. Only Larissa Karanis had volunteered to remain on the Cylon craft, a decision driven not by personal attachments or sentimentality but by her intense dedication to the practice of medicine. She was simply not willing to leave a vessel whose population might soon find itself in desperate need of her expertise.

"Laura, it's a logical choice," Elosha remarked. "Many of the fleet's civilian medical personnel are quartered there, and they will appreciate this young woman's offer to share the baseship's drugs and medical supplies. Their cooperation should help us to keep the situation from spinning out of control."

"I agree, Madame President." Laura Roslin had asked Lee Adama to attend this meeting. "There are very few Gemenese and Sagittarons on the _Velle_, so we're not as likely to encounter a 'beware of Tauranians bearing gifts' mind-set. The populace is mostly Caprican, and well-educated. The _Velle_ is a good choice, and far better than most."

Laura Roslin looked over her shoulder. "Billy, do you have anything to add?" The Raptor that had ferried Layne Ishay to the baseship earlier in the morning had made a detour to _Colonial _One to pick up Billy Keikeya and the President's quartet of bodyguards. Laura had anticipated Natalie's suggestion, and she wanted her own people around the Cylon head of state, not the marines.

"No, Madame President," Billy replied. "I agree with everything that's been said so far."

"Then it's settled," Roslin concluded. "Now all we have to do is work out the procedures. Lee, do you have any suggestions?"

Apollo nodded. "_Galactica_ exercises traffic control for the entire fleet, and the system works well. So we should adhere to it. I recommend that the Cylons clear all flights with the OOD, and when Natalie is on board, notify Actual … or, in this instance, Colonel Tigh. Like it or not, it's important that we give our ships' captains advance notice—and respect their right to decline having a Cylon come aboard. Patience is our greatest ally; we don't want to rush things, and we certainly don't want to shove this alliance down the fleet's throat."

Natalie nodded in agreement. "Madame President, let me thank you for offering me the use of your bodyguards. After the _Gideon_ incident, I'm not eager to enter civilian ships with a marine escort, but at the same time it would probably be suicidal for me to go anywhere without an armed escort of some kind. Captain Apollo, in that vein … would it be a good idea to ask Colonel Tigh to assign a Raptor for my use?"

"Yeah, that would be a very good idea … perhaps one of the birds that we're using in the cross-training regime?" Apollo was thinking out loud. "And it wouldn't hurt if we had a mixed crew dock the Raptor wherever we go. Yeah … that'll work."

"Thank you, Captain … Madame President," Natalie said. "Doctor Cottle indicated that he would speak with Doctor Gerard sometime this afternoon, so I will contact Colonel Tigh and attempt to make the necessary arrangements for tomorrow morning. We can use our time today productively. I'll ask Four and Larissa to inventory our medical supplies; we'll share as much as we can with _Galactica_ and the civilian fleet. "

"And if Colonel Tigh demands that you return me to _Galactica's_ brig?"

"I'll decline, Madame President … politely, but I will decline. If he really presses me, I'll take my sister's advice and challenge him to a discussion of the Articles of Colonization…"

Apollo snorted. "Oh, I think it's safe to say that Colonel Tigh has only the vaguest idea of their content. No one's ever glued them to the side of an ambrosia or whiskey bottle, and that's the only format with which our XO is really comfortable!"

"Then the only thing left to decide, Madame President" Natalie concluded, "is whether or not you and Captain Apollo wish to join me. I would value your support, but I suspect that a joint appearance might damage you politically."

Laura smiled automatically, but her eyes remained cold and hard. "Natalie, you are about to make history—and I wouldn't miss it for the world."

. . .

At noon the following day, a Raptor piloted by Racetrack and one of the Sharons shuttled Natalie, Laura and Lee to the _Inchon Velle_. They were accompanied by the President's bodyguards, and surrounded by boxes of vitamins, antibiotics, sedatives and pain killers. Natalie reckoned that these would be in perpetually short supply, so she had decided to turn over half of the baseship's stock to a Caprican physician, Michael Robert. She didn't know anything about the man, but Colonel Tigh had singled him out as the senior GP in the fleet.

Tigh had taken both Laura and Natalie by surprise. He had defused a potentially ugly confrontation by promptly coming out in support of Natalie's mission, and he volunteered the use of a Raptor before she could even request one. He did not get upset when the Cylon declined a marine escort, and he refused to be baited when Natalie casually announced that she would be using the President's bodyguards instead. It was the perfect opening, but the XO seemed determined to overlook Laura Roslin's presence on the baseship. He was so cooperative that Roslin grew suspicious; she warned Natalie that they might be wandering into a trap designed to return her and Lee to the brig. The two leaders delayed their departure in order to discuss their options at length.

Racetrack allowed the Sharon to handle the entire flight, but despite her coaching, the Eight made a complete mess of the landing. The Raptor settled onto the _Velle_ with a bone-jarring thud that could be heard throughout most of the ship. _Now,_ Racetrack brightly observed, _you know how your predecessor earned the call-sign Boomer. _She could only pray that the Raptor's landing gear was still intact.

Laura Roslin followed her bodyguards down the short ramp, and she quickly scanned the small crowd that had turned out to greet them. She recognized only Mike Robert and Rado Ankhsiya; the latter was the _Velle's_ captain, and she considered it a good sign that he had chosen to wear his ornate but cumbersome dress uniform. When the captain stiffened, she knew without even looking that Natalie and Lee had exited the Raptor behind her.

"Captain, it's good to see you again." Roslin and Ankhsiya shook hands, and then she made the necessary introductions. "This is Commander Natalie Six, the Cylon head of state, and perhaps you are already acquainted with Captain Apollo."

"Indeed," Rado replied; "Madame President … Captain … welcome to you both."

With that he turned reluctantly to address the Cylon. His body language reminded Apollo of a coiled spring. The tension in the landing bay was palpable, but Apollo noted with admiration that Natalie coolly chose to ignore it.

"Captain," she smoothly said, "thank you for allowing me to board your ship. I appreciate how difficult this must be for you, but for me it's a great honor. The _Inchon Velle_ is the first colonial vessel that I have ever visited. I hope that you will give me what Captain Adama calls the ten cubit tour, but first … would you introduce me to doctors Robert and Gerard?"

Rado gave her a wooden smile, and turned to the small throng assembled behind him. He gestured vaguely in the direction of two men wearing white lab coats.

Mike Robert stepped forward to introduce himself, and his colleague. He did not shy away from the hand that Natalie offered him, but the expression on his face made it clear that he would have preferred to be gripping the deadliest serpent in the jungles of Scorpio. _And these,_ Natalie reminded herself, _are among the best educated and most enlightened people in the fleet. What a hill we have to climb. _She did not know that Michael Robert had lost a wife and two children in the attack on Caprica, nor was she aware of the fact that his father had perished in a firefight with centurions a generation earlier. The hill was steeper than she realized: variations on Mike Robert's story were commonplace on every vessel in the fleet.

Still, Natalie had been expecting a hostile reception, so she was not intimidated by it. She pushed gamely ahead.

"Doctor, President Roslin informs me that pharmaceuticals are in very short supply throughout the fleet. Since your need is clearly greater than our own, I have brought fully half of our medical stores with me, and I am now placing them at your disposal. I'll forward most of what's left to Major Cottle this afternoon. It is admittedly a small gesture on our part, but I hope that it will make a difference … allow you to save lives that might otherwise be lost."

Natalie did not wait for what she knew would be an awkward reply. Instead, she redirected her attention to the brain surgeon. It took no more than one glance for her to realize that "eccentric" and "flaky" did not really capture Doctor Gil Gerard. Physically she would have placed him in early middle age, but there was a boyish quality about him that suggested someone much younger. She had been watching him out of the corner of her eye, had noted his nervous habit of constantly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. _Here's someone who's actually excited to meet me, _she concluded, _and he's all but salivating at the prospect of prowling around inside John's head. I hope that he's as good as Doctor Cottle claims._

"Doctor Gerard?" Natalie once again offered her hand while accessing a subroutine that would allow her to smile with convincing sincerity.

"Yes," Gerard responded, his eyes bright with excitement. "Wow! A Cylon. Wow! I've never talked with a Cylon before … this is great!"

"And you're my first brain surgeon, doctor. It's a memorable moment for both of us." Her pre-war assignment on Virgon had taught Natalie that charm could be a potent weapon, and she had long since come to appreciate that flattery could completely disarm a certain kind of man. She thought that Doctor Gerard might be one of them.

"Major Cottle says that you have a patient for me … a Cylon-human hybrid. Is that true?" Gerard couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice.

"Yes, doctor. I came here to ask for your help. I know it's a lot to ask, but I would like you to return to the baseship with us. Major Bierns … John … requires surgery, and there is no one else who can perform it. Will you help?"

"Of course! When can we leave?" Gerard's enthusiasm was irrepressible.

"Soon, but I want to see a little of your ship before we depart. We will place everything that we have at your disposal, but you might want to gather some of your own instruments. Our medical equipment is minimal."

Natalie and Laura plunged deeper into the ship, the four bodyguards rearranging themselves into a loose box formation. The _Inchon Velle_ was a passenger transport, and like so many ships in the fleet, it was badly overcrowded. In the main cabin, Natalie was overwhelmed by the pungent mix of odors. Food, sweat, the stale stink of constant fear—these and many other smells that she could not identify instantly assaulted her.

She saw a little boy standing on an aisle seat. He was pale, and he looked hungry. She walked up and squatted beside him.

"Hi," she said with a soft smile. "My name is Natalie; what's yours?"

"Gaius," the boy shyly answered.

"He's named for his father," a woman in the next seat gruffly remarked. "You killed him."

Natalie stared into the woman's eyes, and wondered which was the stronger emotion—anger, or hate.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she meant it. "I wish … I wish that I could go back and undo all of the bad things that we have done to one another. But I can't. All I can do is try and make things better in the present, and work to build us a future that's free of hatred and war. What's your name?"

"Naia," the woman reluctantly offered.

"Naia, you and Gaius don't have to live like this. Our ship is huge, and it's underutilized. The two of you could have a room of your own, and real beds. We have food, and we'd like to share."

"Why don't you just go away and leave us alone," Naia wailed.

"Yeah," she heard someone else say; "just get the hell off our ship!"

"Frakking skin job …" A small crowd had gathered, and its mood was ugly.

Natalie stood up, and surveyed the faces that had closed in around her.

"Skin job," she murmured, "yes, I suppose that's exactly what I am." She looked directly at one of the older men in the crowd. "Did you ever wonder what would have happened if you had won the war … exterminated the centurions? Your cyberneticists would have gone right back to work. They would have created a second generation of sentient machines, but this time with adequate safeguards. And they would have gone down the same path that my forebears pursued … to create machines like me and my sisters … to be your slaves."

Natalie's voice grew contemplative. "You know, sometimes I stand in front of the mirror. I look at my face, I look down at this body, and I ask myself: what would my owner have required of me? Do any of you have any doubts? I would have been his pleasure slave." Natalie heard Laura's sharp intake of breath, and she sensed that Lee was staring at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. "My sole purpose in life would have been to open my mouth or spread my legs to service him, and a slave chip would have insured that I would always be compliant … even eager. Would my maker have programmed me to enjoy it, or would I have been programmed to hate what I was doing even as I labored to give him the greatest possible pleasure? Do you doubt that you can be that cruel?"

Natalie looked from face to face. "Do any of you find this comforting? Does it appeal to some deep-seated fantasy?"

Natalie turned back to Naia. "Do you have bad dreams … nightmares, even? I know I do."

. . .

"Okay, the hematoma that you see here … that's the result of bruising and swelling, and we can leave it to heal on its own. But this blood vessel here … it leaked." Gerard touched one spot on the X-ray, and another on the brain scan. He was walking John Bierns, Sherman Cottle, Larissa Karanis, Kara Thrace, and a host of concerned Cylons through his findings. "Major, it was just the tiniest squirt of blood that caused your entire seizure. It's remarkable, really remarkable. Of course, if it happens again, we're talking major hemorrhage … I mean, death within minutes."

Gerard loved his work, and he loved a rapt audience. He was the star of this particular show, he knew it, and he was enjoying every minute of it. "So, we need to repair that blood vessel. Luckily, the swelling has gone down so much that we actually have a shot at this thing."

"What's the risk here," Kara asked. "I mean, what's in there that he could possibly lose?"

Gerard shrugged his shoulders, conceding her point. "Any time you go digging around in the brain, there's always the possibility of ancillary damage. On the plus side, though, he has a remarkably clear image. To me this looks like …" Gerard giggled, "… if you'll pardon the pun … a 'no-brainer'!"

"Doctor," Natalie wanted to know, "how long should this take?"

"Oh, I should think two hours max. Actually, we're good to go right now. Your surgical suite is first-rate, and Doctor Cottle and Nurse Karanis can assist me."

"Do it," Bierns said. There was really nothing else to say. . . .

Kara Thrace was pacing back and forth, and she was growing increasingly worried. The two hours had turned into three, and they were still at it. She suspected that something had gone wrong, or they had found more damage than they anticipated. Several Cylons were standing around her; they had no need to pace, but she now knew them well enough to see that concern was written on every face.

"Starbuck."

"Kara whirled in her tracks; it was Cottle, and he was busy lighting a cigarette. _Some things,_ she thought, _never change._

"We've just finished up; you can go in now."

She looked at him, the unspoken question hanging heavily in the air.

"Doc repaired the blood vessel. He's gonna make it. Go on … get in there." Cottle stood aside to let her pass.

Kara, Natalie, and several other Cylons hastened into the chamber. John was out cold, and it was not clear whether he was sleeping or unconscious.

"When is he going to wake up?" Kara was afraid that John had slipped into a coma.

"Actually, I'm surprised that he's not awake already," Gerard answered.

"This isn't necessarily a bad thing, Kara." Cottle had slipped into the room behind them. "His brain needs time to repair itself. We're hooking up an EEG; we'll take a look and see what's going on."

The results staggered everybody in the room. The screen was awash with neural feedback, but it was racing by at a speed that seemed incomprehensible. Gerard was staring at the monitor in complete amazement.

"I've _never _seen readings even remotely like this," Gerard observed. "They're unprecedented and, in all honesty, bizarre."

"Well," one of the Eights suggested, "maybe his brain is rebooting … recalibrating as it heals."

Gerard shook his head in disagreement. "Don't think so," he said. "He doesn't have silica pathways, and there's no micro circuitry in there that I could see. No, he's not rebooting … this is something else." Gerard's eyes were glued to the monitor. "We'll just have to wait. When he wakes up, maybe he'll be able to tell us what's going on."

"We don't have to wait." A very determined look crossed Starbuck's face. "If he's projecting, Reun and I can talk with him right now."

. . .

"_Adama! Adama! Adama!" _The sound rolled over him, like a surging wave crashing against a rocky shore.

"Thank you," Adama said. His demeanor was calm and his tone was even, but his heart was racing. "Thank you very much. I'm glad to be back."

Bill looked from face to face. He had served with many of these people for years, but they had never been as close to his heart as they were now.

"There are things we don't say often enough. Things like what we mean to one another. All of you mean a lot to me. We're family. I just want you to know that. Now, let's get back to work."

Adama walked over to the navigation console. "Mr. Gaeta, where do you think they are now?"

"Sir, do you mean Captain Adama and the former president?"

"The fugitives," Tigh interjected.

"Um … yes, sir. The fugitives entered the baseship last week. We effectively lost them at that point due to the large volume of inter-fleet traffic going to and from the Cylon ship."

Adama frowned, and then he looked squarely at the young lieutenant. "What am I missing here, Mister Gaeta?"

"Supplies, sir. Medicine, food, clothing—the Cylons are sharing everything they've got. Natalie … excuse me, sir, the Cylon head of state … has been very generous. With the fleet still out on general strike against martial law, the baseship has started assuming many of _Galactica's_ supply functions."

"Bill, hungry people don't particularly care where the food comes from … and that Six has stones, I'll give her that." Natalie Faust had made a strong impression on the XO. "She's personally visited over a dozen ships in the last week, and she refuses to take more than four marines along as an escort. Hell, it took me three days to persuade her not to rely solely on Roslin's bodyguards. She's got Mathias scared out of her wits."

"Have there been any incidents?"

"Yeah, there was one pretty ugly moment on the _Zephyr_, but she talked her way out of it. She's bold as brass, Bill … and Mathias says that she's a natural." Tigh shook his head in disbelief. "A charismatic Cylon … who would have ever believed it?"

"And Roslin?"

"They've made some joint appearances—the _Inchon Velle_, the_ Virgon Express_, even _Colonial One_. But as best we can tell, Roslin never leaves the baseship without the Six at her side. Get this, Bill. Natalie actually went on board the _Hitei Kan_ and offered to send them a bunch of centurions to pick up the slack."

"Oh, I bet you could have sold tickets to that one," Bill sarcastically remarked. "How did Zeno Fenner react?"

The XO chuckled. "Rumor has it that Fenner's gang wanted to feed her to the machinery, but cooler heads prevailed. There's nothing like having four rapid assault rifles pointed in your general direction to get people's attention." Tigh was still sensitive about the _Gideon_, but the marines attached to the Six had kept their cool in more than one bad moment over the last four days. Saul had learned from his mistake, and he wasn't about to repeat it.

"Any word on Bierns?"

"Yeah. He's been in and out of brain surgery. The head doc says that he's going to recover, but I'm getting conflicting reports. Cottle says that he's comatose, while Kara Thrace says that she talks to him regularly. Go figure."

"She's a hybrid, Saul … they're both hybrids. The rules that apply to the rest of us may not be relevant here. Where is she?"

"The baseship. She left _Galactica_ before your girl friend sprang Roslin out of the brig, and she hasn't been back since. She probably thinks that I'll toss her in a cell first chance I get. Seriously, Bill, I wouldn't press this one. If you push, she'll resign her commission … take my word for it."

"Did you meet with Natalie?"

"No. Roslin's been too big a complication. So, I haven't asked, and the Six hasn't volunteered. I thought it best to let you handle it."

"Then we'll play this one by the book. I'll ask our Cylon ambassador if she has any communiqués for me, and request that she set up a meeting with her head of state here on _Galactica_. We'll roll out the red carpet … in public. What gets said in my quarters may not be quite so hospitable."

. . .

"I have communicated your latest message to the Quorum, Madame President, but they have decided that the question of openly supporting you needs more … deliberation."

Tom Zarek's tone was filled with regret, but Laura Roslin knew better. The longer she had to remain in hiding, the more time Zarek had to campaign for her job without opposition.

Roslin sighed; two could play this game. "I need to make an appeal to the people."

"Make a strong enough argument," Zarek offered, "and the _Astral Queen_ will be the first ship in line."

Apollo snorted derisively. "Like they do anything but roll over and take orders from you."

Zarek ignored him. He was playing for high stakes, and the Adama kid didn't even have a seat at the table. "There's one more bit of news. Zeus has returned to Olympus. Adama is back in command."

"My father?' Lee couldn't quite believe it. "He's back?"

"It's all over the wireless. By now the whole fleet knows." Zarek had had a very good week, but Adama's speedy recovery had robbed it of much of its luster.

"He's a tough old bird," Roslin remarked. She couldn't help but admire him. Then she slapped the table. "No matter. I know exactly what I have to do. I'm playing the religious card. Adama can keep Olympus … Kobol is the real prize, and we're going to gather it in."


	11. Chapter 11: The Long War: Hide and Seek

CHAPTER 11

THE LONG WAR: HIDE AND SEEK

Kara Thrace strode purposefully down the beach. She ignored the idyllic scene that was unfolding all around her, although she did idly wonder whether John ever allowed rain clouds to darken the sky over Galatea Bay. Once again the sky was bright blue, with fleecy clouds that an onshore breeze gradually pushed across the horizon. She could see John and the two hybrid sisters in the distance, only this time they all appeared to be hard at work. _Even in this dimension,_ Kara snorted, _a baby needs a roof over its head._

The beach itself had changed. It was still fronted by a thick stand of palm trees, and the low lying shrubbery with its brightly colored flowers was as she remembered it, but now there was a high cliff face in the background. A waterfall plunged over the cliff, the water coursing through a series of rock pools before it finally reached the sea.

The three hybrids were building a house on a natural terrace abutting the middle of the three rock pools. They had gathered stones to serve as the foundation, and had already raised three of the four timber walls. The wood was a rich shade of brown that bordered on red; Kara thought that it might well be teak. A stone chimney interrupted one of the walls; from the outside, she could not decide whether it was for a fireplace, or an oven.

Reun and Deirdre were busy gathering palm fronds, which were obviously intended for the roof, and long strands of palm rope were coiled neatly and stacked in the shadow of the house. It was all very primitive, Kara concluded, but in a tropical climate it would be eminently serviceable. The three pools were an especially nice touch, she thought. The highest would supply drinking water, the middle a place to bathe, and the lowest could be used as a self-flushing latrine.

As Kara drew near, Deirdre unconsciously reached down to place a hand protectively across her belly. The baby had not yet begun to kick, but she did not need movement to feel the life growing inside of her. Deirdre could sense her unborn daughter in ways that no human mother had ever experienced.

John was running a plane up and down the length of a rough board, and he chose to ignore the notoriously short-tempered pilot. He knew what she wanted, and he was prepared to answer all of her questions, but he was also keenly aware of how profoundly the knowledge would impact her. She wouldn't like some of his answers- her loyalty to Adama was too deeply ingrained- but he did not think that she would be able to chart a course markedly different from the one that he and Richard Adar had laid out. There was a lot of potential for bitterness here, and John did not want that to become the birthright of the woman he still thought of as his baby sister.

"John, you know why I'm here." He could hear the impatience in her voice. "Do you want me to clap my hands to get your attention?"

"No, Kara," John said as he turned to face her. "That won't be necessary. But it's a warm day. Can we offer you something to drink?"

Kara shook her head still more impatiently. "Let's skip the social pleasantries."

John glanced in Deirdre's direction. They had talked it over, and had ultimately agreed to share everything with Kara. They would hold nothing back, not even the intensely private moments that neither she nor anyone else was entitled to know. Thanks to the stream, thousands of Cylons already knew how far John had descended into the darkness, and the price that Deirdre had paid to pull him back. Kara's claim to this knowledge was far more compelling than theirs.

John walked off in the direction of the pool, leaving Kara no choice but to follow. He found a shaded rock at the water's edge, and made himself comfortable. On impulse, he decided to kick off his shoes and allow his feet to soak in the cool water. Deirdre and Reun sidled up to join him, and John slid over so that Deirdre could sit down at his side. They both understood that there were some very bad moments in this particular story, and that they would both require something more tangible than moral support.

John closed his eyes, and allowed his memories to sweep him into the past. . . .

"Let's go back, Kara, to a point thirteen years before the holocaust. I was in my last year at university, and General Berriman came round personally to recruit me for the CSS. I had spent years trying to draw myself to his attention, and this was the payoff. I knew I wasn't human, but knowing what you're not is a far cry from knowing who you are. I wanted answers, and I figured that the CSS might be able to supply them."

John idly swirled the water with his foot. The memories flowed easily.

"When I first met him, I didn't pull any punches. I made it clear that I was … different. Of course, he couldn't just come straight out and ask me what was going on … that would have been too easy." John laughed bitterly. "No, he had to torture me a bit first … had to _extract_ information that I was desperate to share. It was kind of ironic that, when it was all over, I hadn't learned a damned thing that I didn't already know. The analysts went round and round … 'he's got to be a Cylon' … 'no, he's a half-breed' … and so forth. Kara, I got that far when I was thirteen, and I didn't need anybody's help to get there. I had spent eight years chasing what turned out to be a will-o'-the-wisp."

"I hear you," Kara said in a voice that was choked with emotion. "Thirteen. Maybe it has something to do with raging hormones, but that was the year I finally stopped kidding myself. That was when I finally accepted that I wasn't like everybody else. I was different, but until you stumbled along, I didn't know _how different_!"

"I felt like I was going crazy," John continued. He looked at Kara for confirmation.

"Crazy … yeah," she whispered. "I did every self-destructive thing I could think of."

John laughed again, but it was a hollow, aching sound. Deirdre reached out to clasp his knee; John was caught up in the middle years now, the time when everything had seemed hopeless.

"Yeah, I know … I was watching you. I wanted to pull you in, but that was my guilt and shame talking. Harlan was right. We needed you out there … a lightning rod that might attract the Cylons … draw the old priest out of hiding. We had nothing else; back then, you weren't just our best hope, Kara … you were our only hope."

John shook his head, remembering the frustration that had threatened to overwhelm him back in the early days.

"I spent five years chasing ghosts, Kara. I turned the fleet upside down … the bureaucracy … the defense industry. I put the security services under a microscope, and then I went to work on staffs … the President's, the Quorum's. Gods, Kara, but I looked under a lot of rocks best left untouched. I learned a lot, and most of it was stuff that I didn't want to know … but I never found a single, frakking Cylon."

"So," Kara grinned knowingly, "it turned out that Admiral Twiddledee periodically got some hooker to spank his little bottom, but the lady was just some poor down and out human trying to earn an honest cubit, so you weren't interested."

John nervously laughed in turn. "Yeah, it was something like that. Anyway, I recycled … updated all the files … but the five years turned into six and then into seven … and still no Cylons. Harlan never gave up, but I did. I was ready to move on, so he gave me an assignment that he thought would engage me emotionally. We were getting blowback about a rogue element at the highest reaches of the Admiralty. There were officers who seemed to be hell bent on provoking a war with the Cylons, and we kept hearing rumors that they were deliberately violating the Armistice Line. It was amazing … absolutely frakking amazing."

Long years had passed, but John still found it hard to believe that Admiral Corman and company had been so reckless.

"Kara, if somebody sneezed in the armistice zone, the CSS would be there with a hankie to blow their nose. Policing the zone wasn't really our job … it was always a matter of detecting Cylon infiltrators … but when battlestars suddenly started showing up in places where they had no right to be? How could we not notice? Proving that the fleet was violating the Armistice Line was easy; all I had to do was pull up our own electronic intel to do that. Proving intent was the hard part, and again, it really wasn't our brief. Harlan sent me to Adar, and had me lay it all out for him. The evidence was strictly circumstantial, but there was a lot of it, and Richard went ballistic. He didn't give a damn about the Cylons, and the last thing on Caprica that he wanted was to end up presiding over some stupid war. He knew all about me, of course … Harlan had introduced me to Kerlis, Tournay, and Adar … and he knew that I was one hundred percent certain that my mother was cylon. They all understood that, for me, this had been about family from day one … about finding my way home. So, Richard didn't even have to ask my opinion … he just unleashed me. I became his blunt instrument … the Lord High Executioner. Over the next year, I did what had to be done. I ruined careers, Adama's among them, and in a few cases I made people … disappear. Not the commanders and the admirals … they were all transferred or forcibly retired … but we wanted to put the fear of the gods into the careerists, so I zeroed in on some majors and colonels with first-class minds and runaway ambitions. They were all in it up to their eyeballs- and this was never the sort of thing that we were prepared to take to a court martial. So, they vanished. One day they were here and the next day they were gone, and they never came back. But the message got through: Richard Adar was willing to play pyramid without rules and referees. Oh, the fleet would continue to cause us problems, but this was the first and last time that we actually had to deal with treason. Still, that wasn't the end of it: the real question was how the Cylons would view all of this insanity. We held our collective breath … and we ran a backdoor operation against the first Cylon infiltrator to come to our attention. It was one of your moms."

John didn't have to look in Starbuck's direction to know that he now had her undivided attention. The Sixes were at the very center of this story, and after years of suffering the calculated cruelty of Socrata Thrace, it was to be expected that Kara would put them on a pedestal. The Sixes loved her, and so great was her need to love them in return that she was prepared to turn a blind eye to their flaws. She had apparently learned nothing from her contretemps in the Delphi museum … _or perhaps,_ he thought, _she's willing herself to forget. But the Sixes aren't what you think they are, Kara. They're manipulative and vain, and there's a strong streak of sadism in their character. It's there, Kara, and it's not all that far beneath the surface. And before we're done, you're not going to be able to hide from it any more._

"To get to Richard, I had to run a gauntlet. First, there was the outer office … then the inner … and finally, the sanctum sanctorum. This was … what … six years before the attacks? Back in those days I was briefing him a couple of times a week, so I knew his office staff on sight, and a lot of them were at least nodding acquaintances. Imagine my surprise when I strolled through the outer office one day, and there she was … the short blond hair, the glasses, the conservatively cut two piece business suit. Think Shelly Godfrey, and you've got it. Richard must have thought I was high on happy pills when I reached his office because I'm sure that I had this stupid, shit-eating grin pasted all over my face. Anyway, I remember looking at him and saying 'Mister President, did you know that one of your secretaries is a Cylon'?"

John was laughing because it was a good memory. "Kara, in a normal universe, the President of the Twelve Colonies would have been horrified to learn that his office had been penetrated by the Cylons. But Richard and I didn't live in a normal universe, and I'll never forget his reaction. It was relief … pure, unadulterated relief. We had been searching for so long, and we were so uncertain of our terrain. And then all of a sudden there she was … Mara Andreotis … the answer to all our prayers."

Starbuck started to rub her eyes. "Somebody pinch me," she said, "because I must be dreaming. I think I just heard you admit that you and the President of the Twelve Colonies conspired to murder a number of officers in the Colonial Fleet, in the aftermath of which you welcomed a Cylon onto the President's staff with open arms. Didn't anyone ever tell you guys that you needed a reality check?"

"Oh, come on, Starbuck," John retorted, "act your age. Look, when we signed the Cimtar Accords we were down to our last battlestar. Forty years later, there were 120 of them in service. Neither their construction nor their deployment was exactly top secret—how could they be when the politicians were all running around publicly congratulating themselves for keeping the voters safe? If the Cylons were paying attention- and that's a pretty safe bet- then you have to figure that they were building a war machine of their own. So, it's Corman, Adama, and the rest of that crew who needed to have their heads examined. They wanted to tackle an unseen enemy of indeterminate strength who knew exactly where to find us. While those fools were dreaming of glorious victories that would flesh out their memoirs, Richard and I were having nightmares about mountains of dead. We kept seeing basestars jumping into orbit and hitting us with everything they had. Even if we won the war, our losses were going to be in the billions. Maybe Adama thought that twenty billion dead was an acceptable loss, but I didn't, and neither did Richard."

"This is absurd," Kara exclaimed. "Adama is no warmonger, and you know it!"

"Really? Why don't you ask him about his last mission with the _Valkyrie_? He deliberately breached the Armistice Line, and it took the Cylons less than three minutes to send an entire task force up his ass. He lost a stealth fighter and a pilot, and he was damned lucky that the Cylons let it go at that."

Kara blanched. "The Old Man _crossed_ the Armistice Line?"

"Yeah, and he had plenty of company. There were a lot of bad apples in the Admiralty, Kara, and I got rid of as many of them as I could. But that didn't get us off the hook with the Cylons. We desperately needed a way to communicate with them in order to offset the damage that Corman had done. I don't know how we got so lucky, but Mara showed up at exactly the right place and time."

"Mara," Starbuck flatly observed. "Not 'the Cylon', not 'the Six' … Mara."

"Yeah … you're right. I courted her. Dinner dates, walks in the park, picnic hampers on the beach … I did it all. But we had to end up in bed. It was the only place where I could credibly pass along our secrets, and the only place that she could safely pump me for information. We used each other, but over time it got more … complicated."

John let his mind drift back across the years, to one night in particular. Mara still had her own apartment, but she had clothes hanging in his closet, and toiletries on his bathroom counter. It was clear that she would soon move in, and take their _danse minuet_ to a whole new level. They had just made love, but the fleeting moments of pleasure could not erase the darkness of his mood. He had been the first to climax, but he had gamely hung on until she reached orgasm as well. Then, without a word, he had trooped into the bathroom to shower. When he came out, he had found her sitting on the bed, her arms clasping her upraised knees.

_It's not very flattering, you know. _

_What?_

_Making love, and then watching you storm off that way. Are you bored with me already? Am I not … creative enough for your liking?_

_It's not you, _he had confessed, _it's me. Mara, have you ever had a bad day at the office?_

_Sure,_ she had replied, _everybody does._

_Well, I've had a bad year … a really bad year._

She had remained silent, but he could see that she was waiting for him to say more. And he recognized that, however inadvertently, his black mood had created the perfect opening.

_Mara, this has to stay between us … understand? Seriously, you cannot share what I'm about to tell you with anybody. It's that classified._

She had played him like a seasoned professional: eyes bright with excitement, she had hunched forward, a fellow conspirator.

_There's a cabal inside the Admiralty … a group of officers who for all intents and purposes have been committing treason. They've been dispatching battlestars to violate the Armistice Line. I don't know whether they're simply testing Cylon response times or whether they're trying to stir up a war, but they're acting without presidential authorization, and they're contravening the stated policies of the Adar administration. When I briefed the President … well, let's just say that he saw red. He directed me to fix the problem, and he made it abundantly clear that he didn't want any of this to go to trial. The CSS has a long history of doing the President's extra-legal bidding—and I've been writing the latest chapter in the saga. Do you know what they call me now? The Lord High Executioner. Over the last few months, Mara, I've got my hands dirty … really, really dirty. But now I'm beginning to wonder whether there's ever going to be an end to it … and gods only know how the Cylons are reacting to all of this. If they'd send someone to Armistice Station, then we could at least try and clear the air … but they've steadily refused, so I … I keep seeing basestars in my sleep. We need to find some way to communicate with them, because this is the kind of misunderstanding that can easily lead to war._

_John, I don't get it. The Cylons have been gone for thirty-five years. Why would anyone seek to provoke them?_

_Paranoia, ambition … there may be as many motives as there are people involved in this mess._

_But President Adar … he's genuinely upset? He doesn't want a war?_

_Absolutely not! Mara, hard as it is to believe, a lot of us actually wish the Cylons well. Perhaps the machines have evolved … maybe they've found constructive purpose. Richard and I both hope so. We've known thirty-five years of peace, and we'd like to keep it going for a long, long time._

"Did Mara pass any of this on to her controller? Did he forward it to whatever constitutes the Cylon command? We could never be sure."

"Her controller? It was one of the males?"

"Yeah," John chuckled. "Three guesses … and the first two don't count!"

"Cavil."

"Yup … and he was still playing at being a priest. That made it easy. It turned out that the Cylons weren't organized in cells; it was a strictly top-down structure. We threw an electronic blanket over Mara, and that gave us Cavil. We put him in a bottle, and Leoben, Simon, and Doral floated to the top. This inspired Harlan to take a good, close look at every temple complex in the colonies, and damned if we didn't come up with twelve Cavils … one per colony. This was the first wave, Starbuck; there were no D'Annas, no Sharons, and no Sevens, but six years out we already had a lot to work with."

"So what happened with you and Mara?"

"We were together for over eight months. In the beginning, it was cutthroat. I treated her as a cutout … a cipher that I had to use to reach Cavil. She was maneuvering to get inside my defenses … positioning herself to become my confidante. We had the ideal working relationship … right up to the point where I frakked it all up."

Kara sighed sympathetically. "She got to you, didn't she?"

"I was vulnerable to her from the beginning," the First Born agreed. "She could read my mood, and become whatever I needed her to be at any given moment. She was every man's fantasy come to life." John picked up a stone, and idly skipped it across the surface of the pool. "The smile on her face … it became an addiction. I wanted to please her, but feeding her sensitive information that didn't genuinely compromise our security became more and more challenging as time passed. The analysts did their best to sanitize the data, but these kinds of operations are tricky at the best of times. I let Mara have such a detailed look at the armistice zone that we may have ended up enabling the second wave of infiltrators. They showed up two years later, and in much larger numbers."

John pulled Deirdre closer. She remained silent, but she rested her head on his shoulder. "Anyway," he went on, "when we started to run out of options, I became desperate. I convinced myself that Mara was ready to hear about my mother—and keep in mind, Starbuck, that this was at a time when the D'Annas had still not surfaced in the Colonies. She would have no choice but to believe me … but I hadn't thought it through. I blinded myself to the possibility that Cavil would kill her … that's how badly I wanted her to accept us. And she did, Kara. I confessed on a Wednesday night, and afterwards we made love. She didn't confess in return, but she didn't walk away, so I thought that we were going to make it. But Friday afternoon rolled around and she rendezvoused with Cavil. We had them both under heavy surveillance, so our teams had front row seats to a murder. He took her to a steel mill. He had a knife, and he sliced her open. She may have still been alive when he pitched her into the foundry. It was an ugly, anonymous way to die, and we had no choice but to let him get away with it. He walked."

"Did she download?" Kara's voice was strained.

"I don't know, but you'd better believe that finding out is high on my list of things to do."

Deirdre took John's hand and rested it on her stomach. New life would take the place of what had been lost.

"I was flying solo, so Harlan should have put my ass through a meat grinder, but he let it slide. He even tried to cheer me up … told me that we would have doubled Mara for sure. But the blunt truth of the matter is that I frakked up. I let my emotions run wild, and Mara paid the price … Mara and the CSS. I blew up the only pipeline to the Cylon leadership that we would ever have. When the Cylons finally captured me and put me through the wringer, it felt like I was finally getting what was coming to me."

"Gods," Kara whispered. It was all so much worse than she had imagined. "Why didn't you just kill him? A simple hit and run … a random mugging gone bad … something. You people were supposed to be good at this sort of thing."

"You think I didn't want to? Not just to avenge Mara and my mom, but to find out once and for all? A simple blood test … a tissue scraping … that's all it would have taken, _and I would have known for sure_! I'd lay in bed at nights, unable to sleep … just thinking about it. I pleaded with Harlan, begged him to let me take out just one of the bastards. But he wouldn't hear of it. Harlan … Richard … they were both afraid that the Cylons were as paranoid as us. Because their organization was strictly vertical, Harlan warned the President that taking out even one of them might bring on the very war that we were trying to prevent."

John ran his hand over Deirdre's stomach in slow circles. He was massaging her, but he badly wanted the baby to respond.

"And then it all went to hell. In the beginning, we congratulated ourselves on our foresight. Mara had popped up in the President's office, and there was another Six over at Capradyne … a Systems Analyst. The Cylons were turning up exactly where we expected to find them. But when the second wave began to roll over us, suddenly we were awash in paramedics and accountants, journalists, schoolteachers … there was no longer any rhyme or reason to their activities."

John shook his head, remembering divisions within the Colonial Secret Service that had occasionally grown bitter.

"We fought amongst ourselves about the meaning of it all. _'They're digging in deep so that they can paralyze us when they strike'. 'They're studying us'_ … to take us over without a fight … to see whether they can live peacefully with us. . . . Think up a scenario, Kara, and it undoubtedly had an advocate. Of course, we were just spinning our wheels, but we were also frightened. The Threes and the Eights showed up in the second wave, but not the Sevens. That scared us. We thought that we might be dealing with a singleton—a mole that was in so deep and so critically located that he or she had to operate without a controller. There was no telling who or where, and that was the problem. The more uncertain we became, the greater our vulnerability to our own collective paranoia. The Seven could be anyone, but the candidate of choice was me—for the most obvious of reasons. Neither Harlan nor Richard bought into the rumors and the innuendo … at least, I don't think they did … but Harlan came up with a plan that gave us a shot at penetrating the Cylons while simultaneously satisfying the people who wanted my head on a stake. It was a long range exercise that was going to involve a lot of nasty prep work for the agent in question, namely … me. Harlan handed me over to his interrogation team, and instructed them to toughen me up. They took me over the hurdles for the better part of two years, teaching me how to manage pain, then to embrace it, and finally to crave it."

"And these people were _your friends_? Gods, John, didn't it ever occur to you that none of this was even remotely normal? Didn't you know anyone who was living in the real world?"

"Kara, don't," Deirdre interrupted. "Wait until you've heard the whole story before judging any of us."

Starbuck glared at the hybrid, but she held her tongue. It didn't require much imagination to sense that the worst part of this sordid tale still lay ahead.

"The collapse of the dome over the mining colony on Troy kicked off the third wave. It was sabotage, pure and simple, and the first concrete indicator of the Cylons' ultimate intentions. But there were so many infiltrators in this wave that the Ones had to manufacture a large-scale disaster to supply their agents with plausible cover stories. When the dome went, a lot of records vanished as well. Even before we discovered the truth it all seemed suspiciously … convenient."

John shrugged his shoulders. Troy had been an intelligence disaster of the first order. None of the security services had caught wind of the plot, and Richard had not taken the findings of fact well. Painted into a corner by leaks from a source with access to some but not all of the facts, the President had chosen publicly to attribute the disaster to a shadowy Sagittarian terrorist group, and it ended up costing him six points in the polls.

"Over the next six months … say one and a half to two years before the attacks, the influx grew so large that we started to see Cylons in our soup. The numbers overwhelmed our resources, and forced us to make hard choices. We had to decide on a case by case basis whether to do round the clock or spot surveillance … we simply didn't have the means to keep up with the body count. Kara, we're no longer talking about a manageable body of infiltrators; eighteen months out, the Cylons were a fifth column … a well disciplined fifth column that we still couldn't touch because the Cavils somehow managed to control the whole operation from the top down. The bastards must have been as overwhelmed as we were … I don't know when they found the time to sleep."

"John, what you're describing is an out and out invasion. You had the armistice zone locked up tighter than a drum. How did they get past you? How the hell did they pull it off?"

"With captured ships left over from the first war. They had a lot of FTL capable colonial craft in their possession—the kinds of ships that would seem right at home in the outer colonies. You know what I'm talking about, Kara … ships one breakdown away from the scrap yard … freighters and transports that had changed owners and names and transponder codes so many times over the decades that nobody could tell what was what anymore. They'd jump past the armistice zone, reenter space in the electronic soup around Ragnar or on the fringes of the asteroid belt, and then they'd insinuate themselves into the regular civilian traffic flow."

"And no one thought that it was kind of strange when two dozen Sixes and fourteen Simons walked off one of these transports?"

"Kara, you'll get no argument from me on that one. I remember reading a newspaper article in the _Caprica Times_; there was an accompanying press photo, and who was standing there larger than life? It was one of the Simons. By that time there were so many of them in the Colonies that they could have held their own medical convention. Why didn't anybody notice? Why didn't somebody read that article and go 'hey, that guy looks just like my doctor'! I was fascinated by the fact that so many of them were hiding in plain sight. The President's yoga instructor was a Two. D'Anna Biers was all over TV; a full year before the war, she was already a high flying investigative journalist. There were Cylons sprinkled all over the fleet … the computer industry. You would think that at least one person would have put the pieces together and gone to the authorities."

"Maybe they did," he concluded in a mystified tone, "but it never got back to us."

"Hey, never underestimate the human capacity for self-absorption," Starbuck cheerfully observed. "Self-absorption … self-delusion … rationalization … and just plain run of the mill stupidity! You know, maybe the Cylons are right, maybe the human race is just too damned stupid to go on surviving."

Reun flinched, and Deirdre's head snapped around as if she had been slapped. John instinctively hugged her closer.

"Hey guys, come on," Starbuck protested. "It was just a joke, all right? A little insensitive, perhaps, but still … it was just a joke."

John studied her pensively. _Kara, you've just walked on humanity's grave. Ah, but you can't see it … not yet._

"I'm nervous, okay? I know that we're reaching the part where you guys put General Berriman's super secret plan to beat the Cylons at their own game into effect—only it didn't go so well, did it? Somebody miscalculated, and something went terribly wrong. The Cylons got you, and they tortured you. That's what you're going to tell me, isn't it John?" Kara's voice was quavering. "You're going to tell me that one of my moms did this to you, aren't you? Did she enjoy it, John? Is that what you're hiding? Damn you, tell me! _Did she enjoy it?_"

John stared blindly into the water. Long moments passed as he remembered the play of emotions that had danced across the Six's face. He couldn't remember everything- the pain had taken him to the edge of madness and, with it, merciful oblivion- but he could remember enough.

Deirdre buried her head against John's shoulder, and reached around to clasp his waist. There was so much for which she felt ashamed. She had saved this man, and in return he had given her life and the infinitely precious gift of love, but her intervention had come too late. John had lost something on the baseship … something important … and she had been helpless to prevent it. It was not the torture that had forever scarred him, but the aftermath. He had come of age when circumstances forced him to confront the most terrible of truths—that forgiveness could be at once deadly and cruel.

"Yes, Kara," John finally admitted, "she enjoyed it."


	12. Chapter 12: Lost Planet of the Gods

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT**

CHAPTER 12

LOST PLANET OF THE GODS

"Brother, we are running out of baseships!"

John Cavil cast an irritated look in his younger sibling's direction. There were times, and this was one of them, when the First Born was as disappointed with the Ones as he was with most of the other models. The Ones had an irritating habit of drawing attention to the obvious, but when pressed, they rarely had any worthwhile ideas.

The two Ones were on a resurrection ship high above Caprica. John didn't like putting a resurrection ship in planetary orbit- its lack of missile batteries made it too inviting a target- but Natalie had forced his hand. She knew all of their vulnerabilities, and she also knew the relative location of all the resurrection technology. John had already taken the precaution of moving the Colony, and he was confident that the Six couldn't find it, but he was acutely aware of the fact that Natalie's hybrid would be able to track both the resurrection ships and the hub. He had ordered his brothers to move the resurrection hub, and to keep on moving it, and he had issued new transponder codes to try and isolate the bitch, but they were exposed and he knew it. He wouldn't put it past the Six to return to Caprica yet again, hence his decision to park the resurrection ship in orbit alongside the one remaining baseship in the Cyrannus system. And the baseship, he readily acknowledged, was not in prime condition. It needed more time to recover from the blows that Natalie had delivered on her previous visit to the system.

John Cavil was in the most highly restricted chamber on the resurrection ship. There were only five tubs in the room, and he was standing in front of one of them. He resumed staring down at the husk of Samuel T. Anders. He had other problems to think about, and he didn't like being interrupted.

"Brother, do you have anything to contribute that I don't already know?" John had decided to let his irritation show.

"We should think about activating the old first war basestars. They're still serviceable."

"Brother, _I have thought about it_. But we would have to pull all of the remaining 0005's off the Colony to launch even one basestar at full strength, and since the basestars don't have hybrids, we would have to reactivate one of the IL series to command it. I'm not willing to do that. Lucifer and his pals always gave me the creeps, and I'm convinced that they have an agenda of their own that doesn't include us. No, we'll just have to find another solution." John continued to stare down at Anders' shell.

"We're too spread out," his sibling commented. "We should consolidate our forces. It's time, brother, for us to leave this place."

"Yes," the First Born agreed. "The others are becoming restive. I'm hearing more and more talk about Earth … how it should become our new home. I don't know how that fable began to circulate, but it's resonating, and we can use it to our advantage. We'll tell the others that we agree with them, and use it as an excuse to evacuate the Colonies. There are also more and more doubts being voiced about the Plan … about the whole war. We'll use that as well. We'll tell the others that we are also having second thoughts about the whole project, and suggest that we give the humans a reprieve. We'll continue to trail the fleet, but we won't harry them—not until we get our three new baseships on line. Eight months, brother … we need to be patient for eight months, and then we can start again."

John Cavil didn't like having to revise his plans for the extermination of humanity, but events had forced his hand. Human resourcefulness, the incompetence of his own kind, and sheer bad luck had combined to erode the Cylons' once overwhelming tactical advantage. Now a new crisis was looming on the horizon: John was staring down at the latest hammer blow to Cylon fortunes.

"Papa Sam," John muttered. "What should I do about you?"

The younger Cavil looked at his older sibling; the question was forming on his lips, but John anticipated it.

"In the last two days, two of the breeding facilities have been overrun and shut down." John nodded in Sam's direction. "It was papa Sam and his merry little band of resistance fighters. But eleven centurions and five overseers at these farms have also fallen off the grid. There are no remains … they've just … disappeared."

"Disappeared?" John didn't have to raise his head; he could hear the alarm in his sibling's voice.

"Disappeared," John concurred. "And I can think of only one possible explanation. The centurions have figured out who Sam really is. But the real question is whether papa has also figured it out."

"Why take a chance? We should take them out … both the humans he seems to love so much and the centurions. Then we can box papa, or reprogram him with fresh memories and return him to the surface. But we need to act quickly. We need to nip this in the bud."

"Agreed," John replied. "Brother, organize two Heavy Raiders and ten full squads of centurions. We'll hit them at first light tomorrow. You and I will take care of this personally."

"What about our brothers and sisters?"

"We box them," the First Born grimly responded. "We take no chances. We slaughter the humans, and we box our own. We track down everyone who has been in contact with papa, and we get rid of them. Cylon, human … it doesn't matter. Papa's identity must remain a secret."

. . .

Caprica Six pounded on the door, but she did not know if the Eight could hear her. Rock music was drifting out into the corridor; Caprica had absolutely no idea what Sharon was playing- Gaius' taste in music had led her in other directions- but the volume was cranked up very loud. She decided to pound some more.

The door flew open without warning, and suddenly Sharon Valerii was standing in front of her. Anger and bitterness were pouring off of her in waves.

"Are you here to kick me out?" There was no mistaking the challenge in Sharon's voice.

"No," Caprica quietly answered.

"Well, if you're here to help me with my adjustment problems, I can save you some time." Caprica followed Sharon down a spiral staircase into her living room. Boomer reached up to an overhead bar and began to do chin-ups while Caprica wandered around, examining the photographs and mementoes of a non-existent life.

"This is home, and I'm not leaving," Sharon said as she abruptly killed the music. Her tone, like her body language, radiated hostility.

"I lived on Caprica for two years, so I know what you mean." Caprica kept her voice low and non-threatening. "The only difference is I knew what I was. Oh, I pretended to be human, but I knew."

"If you knew what you were and you lived on Caprica for that long," Sharon viciously replied, "you know what that makes you? A really good liar."

Boomer retreated to the bedroom to change her clothes; Caprica spotted a pair of miniature elephants, and picked them up to take a closer look.

"These are beautiful," she said when Sharon reentered the room. "Ithacan?"

"Hand-carved. My mother gave them to me the day I left for the fleet Academy."

Caprica picked up a framed photograph of Sharon's family, and held it out to the Eight.

"Is this her?"

"It's supposed to be," Sharon countered as she reached out to take the picture. "Of course, none of it is real. It was all fabricated for my mission. _My whole gods damned life is a lie,_" she screamed, as she hurled the photo across the room. The glass shattered against the wall, the razor sharp fragments flying back into the room to settle dangerously on the floor.

"Following God's path is never easy," Caprica said soothingly.

"Do you think I give a frak about your God?"

"God loves you, Sharon."

"This is love," Sharon yelled as she picked up another picture, one taken on the _Galactica_. "These people love me, and I love them. I didn't pretend to feel something so that I could screw people over. I loved them."

"Then why did you commit suicide?" Caprica was genuinely curious. "Why did you do the one thing that would most hurt the people who loved you?"

"Isn't it obvious? It was the only way out of this stupid, frakked up war! The Cylons programmed me to sabotage _Galactica_, and I did it—I blew up their water supply. The gods only know what else I would have done if Shelly and Lydia … if your sisters … hadn't given me up. Then Commander Adama, the only real father I've ever had … a man I love … sent me out to nuke a baseship. And I did that too … I murdered hundreds of copies of myself. It was a test, and I proved my loyalty … proved that I could be counted upon to slaughter my own flesh and blood on demand. Only I discovered that I didn't want to kill Cylons any more than I did humans. I just wanted the war to be over, but it isn't going to end. It's going to go on and on, the two sides hating each other, the hate destroying everything it touches. No one's going to win, you know. This war is going to destroy us all."

"Then we need to find a different path," Caprica suggested. "Genocide, murder, vengeance—they're all sins in the eyes of God. That's what you and I know. That's what so many of the others don't want to hear."

"Because then they'd have to rethink what they're doing," Sharon bitterly added. "Then they'd have to consider that maybe the slaughter of mankind was a mistake!"

Boomer looked suspiciously at Caprica. "Sixes are so hard core, such gung-ho warriors. Where is this coming from?"

"I'm different," Caprica confessed. "I'm more like you. Before the attacks I met two men, and the experience changed me. I betrayed one of them, but John forgave me … made me see that the conflict between man and machine will never be over until we learn how to live together in peace. And he got me to believe that it's possible. John took the burden of being cylon off my shoulders. He helped me to understand that I'm also a woman, with real emotions that go far beyond the parameters of my programming. I evolved here, Sharon, just as you evolved on _Galactica_. Neither of us is what we once were. Like you, I discovered love. I fell in love, and I think that he loved me too … in his own way."

"So who was he … this man you loved?"

"Maybe you've heard of him? Gaius Baltar."

"_Doctor Baltar?"_

'Yeah."

Sharon inhaled sharply. "Then it's true after all," she said; "he gave you access to the Colonial defense grid. He was the one who betrayed us! Does he still work for the Cylons?"

"What?"

"You know … on _Galactica_. Is he still doing their dirty work?"

"Gaius … he's alive?"

"He's the Vice-President of the Colonies. You didn't know? The frakking traitor."

"No! Gaius isn't a traitor! He had no idea … not until bare minutes before the attacks. We collaborated on the algorithms for the CNP project, and he rewarded me with a tour of the defense mainframe, but right up to the end he thought that all he was doing was helping my company gain a competitive advantage in the bidding for defense contracts. I didn't even want to plant the virus, but John insisted. It was funny. I had gone over to the humans and I was eager to do everything I could to disrupt Cavil's plan, but they kept telling me that humanity couldn't survive unless Cavil believed that he had taken the Colonies completely by surprise. John ordered me to stay on script, and events proved him right. Knowing that the virus was in play made the Ones careless; when the Colonial fleet punched back, they never saw it coming. The Cylons lost almost two hundred baseships during the attacks … and baseships don't resurrect. That's the key to everything, Sharon. The Colonies died but humanity survives … and it's going to go on surviving because the Cavils don't have the resources to finish the job. So, this is the best chance we'll ever have to end the cycles of violence, especially now that Natalie's baseship has switched sides. Adama doesn't have the luxury of turning her away, which means that humans and Cylons will start working together … fighting together … dying together. It will take time, but the hatred will recede. We'll reach Earth together, and we'll build a new society … together."

"_Six, what are you talking about? Who are you working for? And what the frak does Earth have to do with any of this?"_

"I guess that I'm working for all of us, Sharon, humans and Cylons alike." Caprica sighed. "Because you're right … it's a stupid, frakked up war, and there aren't going to be any winners, just losers. I'm trying to change things for the better. Our people need a new beginning, and for some reason the idea has begun to catch on that Earth is it. But they're wrong, Sharon. What we need is not a new place but a new mindset. We need to find a new way to live in God's love … we need to let go of the hate and reject the lies. Someone has to stand up and say that genocide is an unforgivable sin in God's eyes; someone has to make our people understand that a loving and forgiving God would never abandon mankind. Can you think of anyone who would be better qualified than the first two Cylons to experience love with humans? Who else can make the case that, for all its flaws, mankind still has much to offer? Will you join me? Are you ready to end this war?"

"I'm with you!" Sharon Valerii's eyes blazed with hope. _Maybe,_ she thought, _we can do this. Maybe I'll see the Chief again. Maybe we can have the life that I've always wanted, but this time without all the lies. Maybe. . . ._

Natasi was pleased. Boomer had fallen quickly into line, and the one-time Raptor pilot would get a lot of her sisters to follow suit. The Eights had a massive inferiority complex, and the open talk about boxing Sharon Valerii had not gone down well in their ranks. Natasi decided that it was time to move on … time to set her sights on the Twos. Her brothers were a curious bunch. They had collectively come to the conclusion that Kara Thrace had a special destiny, and that it was their job to help her realize it. They didn't seem to know why Starbuck had a special destiny, and they had no idea of her true identity, but Natasi couldn't have cared less. Every time the Cylons attacked the fleet, they put Starbuck's life at risk. So, Natasi decided to encourage the Twos in their obsession, and use it to alienate them from the Ones. The Twos, the Sixes, the Eights … she would need one more model to fall into line before she could wrest control of the collective away from the Cavils. It would have to be the Threes, but the leverage eluded her. _Perhaps I can take advantage of their religious fanaticism. But it would certainly help if the humans began converting. Where are The Soldiers of the One when we need them?_

. . .

"Is she kidding with this?" Bill Adama was holding a clipboard in his hand, and he was looking down at Laura Roslin's latest public statement. He had long harbored doubts about the schoolteacher's state of mind, but this erased them. Laura Roslin had gone off the deep end.

"I know it's hard to believe," Saul Tigh observed, "but that message has cropped up all over the fleet."

"It's religious crap. _'It seems I have been chosen to help lead you to the promised land of Earth. I will not question this choice—I will simply try to play my part in the plan. Therefore, at the appointed hour, I will give the signal to the fleet. All those wishing to honor the gods and walk the paths of destiny will follow me back to Kobol. It is there that the gods' servant, Kara Thrace, will find the way with the arrow of Apollo'._"

Adama hurled the clipboard across the console. He was infuriated.

"We've got five Raptors with marine fire teams standing by to board the _Astral Queen,_" the XO added. We may not be able to get at Roslin, but we can isolate her. If Zarek doesn't jump, no one else will."

"Oh, please, no one's going to follow her. No one's going to believe this crap. No one's this stupid. And anyone that is … that wants to make a suicide run to Kobol … please, let them."

Adama turned decisively to the communications console. "Dee, see if you can locate our new Cylon ambassador. I think it's about time Commander Six and I met face to face."

Adama glanced briefly up at the DRADIS console. The icon for the Cylon baseship dominated the display, in much the same way that the ship itself had already come to play a pivotal role in the fleet's affairs. Roslin might not see reason, but perhaps the Cylons would.

. . .

"Commander, I don't know whether to congratulate you for renouncing false idols, or pity you for your lack of belief in a higher power. It must be difficult to go through life without the certainty of God's love to guide you." Natalie paused to take a sip of her tea. Sixes were not as demonstrative as Threes, but the Cylon leader was devout nonetheless. She did not understand how any human could be blind to the existence of God. The species was so flawed that it could not possibly believe itself to be the highest order of intelligence in the universe.

Adama reached for his water glass while he considered his answer. He did not wish to insult the Cylon commander, but his dealings with Roslin had tried his patience. He had no quarrel with belief—until it became the basis of public policy.

"Commander Six," he finally said, "I respect your beliefs … as I respect those of my own people. Nor do I have a problem with Laura Roslin's faith in scripture and prophecy. But political and military leaders have to draw a firm line between their private beliefs and their public pronouncements and actions. Our decisions must be rooted in law, experience and judgment, not faith. The Articles of Colonization serve as the basis for a secular form of government. It has to be this way: the politics of a diverse society cannot be faith-based without slipping into intolerance. Laura Roslin occasioned mutiny aboard this ship and thereby caused a vital military asset to be lost for no other reason than her blind faith in the prophecies of Pythia—a faith that thousands of people in this fleet do not share. She crossed the line, she endangered this fleet, and she violated the spirit if not the letter of the Articles. I had no choice but to remove her from office, and I cannot allow her to be reinstated."

"Commander," Natalie replied, "I did not come here to defend Laura Roslin's actions. They may well be as indefensible as you seem to think. But that's beside the point. I have carefully examined the Articles of Colonization, and they offer only one mechanism for the removal of a sitting president: impeachment. They make no allowance for a military coup. I'm sorry, Commander, but on the baseship we have voted to uphold the rule of law, and to be bound by it. If you wish to bring charges against President Roslin, and try the case before the Quorum, we will not get in your way. If your case is as solid as you seem to think, you should not find it hard to secure the eight votes required to remove her from office."

"That'll be the day," Adama snorted. "That collection of gutless wonders wouldn't vote to give milk to a starving baby. They're part of the problem, not the solution."

"Then we appear to be at an impasse. Commander, I stand ready to place our ship under your authority because this fleet can only have one military leader at a time. We will take your orders, and we will execute them to the best of our ability. But the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol is the constitutional head of state, and until she is removed from office by impeachment or election, the President is Laura Roslin. If impeachment is unrealistic, perhaps you should consider supporting a candidate for the presidency in the next round of elections whose views coincide more closely with your own."

"That's an interesting suggestion," Adama replied. His expression was thoughtful. "Unfortunately, the next election isn't scheduled for another six months or so, and I don't even want to think about the damage that Roslin could do in the interim. We need another solution."

"And I wish that I had one to offer you," Natalie said, "but I don't. We share Laura Roslin's conviction that prophecy is revealed truth. We also believe that the Tomb of Athena is real, and that it will yield its secrets to Kara Thrace. Our son has recalled us from the darkness, and our daughter will guide us home. We _believe_, Commander, and we will stake not only our own lives but the future of our entire race on our beliefs."

"Then you'll follow Roslin to Kobol?"

"No, Commander, we will take our daughter where she needs to go. It would be more accurate to say that Laura Roslin will follow us to Kobol."

"I won't try to stop you. I won't try to stop anyone who's foolish enough to follow you. Still, we have to restore the civilian government. As much as I despise the man, Doctor Baltar must assume the presidency. Natalie, it would be in everybody's best interest if you could persuade Roslin to resign. Ill health gives her the perfect out, and you can tell her that I'll let the whole matter drop if she retires gracefully. If she's inclined to refuse, please make it clear to her that a bad situation will get a whole lot worse."

. . .

Lee had decided to take it slow … real slow. He didn't want to do anything that would pop Creusa's stitches or cause her to start bleeding internally. It wasn't so much that Starbuck would have a fit if he harmed one hair on the Six's head—what went on in this chamber wasn't any of her business. It wasn't even that he wanted to make it special for Creusa, although he kept telling himself that he was determined to put her pleasure above his own. No, in his heart he knew that this was all about Lee Adama. Apollo knew his reputation … he was responsible, a straight arrow, a guy who would never let the team down. But a less kind person might reproach him for being uptight, a stick in the mud, and a prude. _Gods, even with Shevon I've never done anything wild,_ Lee thought with a grimace. _My whole life has been nothing but vanilla sex, so maybe it's time to break out of the mold … do something un-Lee like. _He had decided to go for it … he had decided to do something about as far out of character as he could get. He had decided to give Creusa a bath—with his tongue.

Lee had begun by sternly ordering her to close her eyes, and to lie perfectly still. No matter what happens, he had instructed her, don't open your eyes, and don't move a muscle! The beautiful Cylon had looked at him with wide-eyed curiosity, but she had also complied, sinking deep into her pillows.

Lee had quietly stripped down to his shorts before throwing off the sheet and taking her toes into his mouth, sucking and nibbling gently on each one of them. Then he had used his tongue to trace the course of the long tendon on the sole of her foot. Creusa had flexed involuntarily, giggling helplessly. She had apologized profusely, but for his part Lee was both surprised and delighted to discover that a Cylon could be ticklish. It might, he thought, just come in handy in the future.

By the time that his wandering tongue had found her calves, the giggling had long since stopped, and now that he had travelled all the way to her inner thighs, he could sense the change in her breathing. It had become shallow and more rapid, and he could feel the muscles tensing beneath his tongue. _So much,_ he thought, _for staying absolutely still! _

Lee stayed with it, slowly and patiently making small circles with his tongue, edging ever closer to her sex, gliding in and then retreating … teasing her … keeping her guessing. He could smell her now because her juices had started to flow, her body anticipating the pleasure yet to come. The odor surprised him; he had expected musk, and it was there, but even in this most intimate of places there was a hint of strawberries. Lee couldn't help himself: he began to think of melted chocolate, and of all the places he wanted to pour it … the inside of her thighs, into her cleft. He could visualize his tongue licking it up … then moving on with greater purpose, darting here and there as he swept her labia clean … penetrating her, going inside to scoop out all the sweetness. Creusa was moaning now because Lee had stopped teasing. He had reached her center, and her body was coming fully alive. Creusa could feel the heat building up along her spine, but still she kept her eyes firmly shut. The Six liked this game: her young god was proving to be so delightfully creative!

Apollo reached up to cup Creusa's perfectly formed breasts; her nipples hardened under the slightest touch of his opened palms. Hand and mouth fell into a synchronous rhythm, and Creusa felt an arc of electricity fuse breasts and vagina. Her body was on fire.

Apollo's tongue glided across taut stomach muscles; his mouth gorged upon breasts heavy with need. His fingers lightly stroked her sex, the exquisitely timed pulse of fingers and lips sending jolts of electricity coursing through her body and pounding into her brain. Her moaning grew more frequent, and more insistent: Creusa was trapped inside a whirlwind, and she sought only one form of release.

She was close, but she wanted him inside her. Her eyes flew open and her hand flew out, to guide him gently within. Apollo was tempted teasingly to scold her for her disobedience, but he found himself leaning forward to kiss her, deeply but tenderly. Their bodies became one, and still he took it slow, fearing the damage to newly healed tissue that too hard a thrust might cause. He felt her body shudder beneath him and, bare moments later, Lee began to moan, to invoke the gods, and to call out her name. His own passion finally spent, Lee rolled them over onto their sides, still inside her; he wanted to banish the universe and suspend time. _It can't possibly, _he thought as he gazed into the depths of those incredibly blue eyes, _get any better than this. _He searched his memories, consciously seeking a moment that might compare, but there was nothing there … nothing at all.

Creusa wrapped her arms around Lee's neck, and held him close. For a time they were content silently to savor the moment, but Creusa soon sensed that something was troubling him. There was a cloud behind Lee's eyes, and she feared that her young god might have already regretted going to bed with a Cylon.

"Lee? Are you okay? You suddenly seem so … sad. Do you regret …"

"Creusa, no! Don't say it … don't even think it." Lee leaned over to caress her cheek. "I'm exactly where I want to be," he said softly.

"Are you? Lee, are you sure that this is what you want?"

"Shh." He put his fingers to her lips. "Do you know, when I first saw you in that hatchway, for a moment I thought that Artemis herself had descended from Olympus to save us all. Of course," he chuckled, "getting shot kind of ruined the illusion."

"And I don't suppose these scars do much for my image either." Creusa touched the stitches that ran across the lower reaches of her chest. They would dissolve in time, but she would carry the angry red lines that they left behind for the rest of her life.

"_Never be ashamed of them!"_ The conviction in Lee's voice startled her. "You did save us all, Creusa … you and the centurions. But I'm damned if I'm going to kiss them!"

"And yet I can see the doubt in your eyes. Talk to me, Lee. Don't be afraid to share. Whatever it is, I'd rather hear it from you than be left to imagine it for myself."

Lee struggled to collect his thoughts. He knew what was bothering him, but he found it hard to put into words.

"It's something that Natalie said on the _Inchon Velle_. She wanted us to think about what would have followed if humans had won the war and exterminated the centurions. She had the answer; it was as plain as day. We would have gone right back to work … created a second generation of AI, but one with safeguards in place to prevent another rebellion. And you would have been the eventual result, Creusa, you and all your sisters. You would have come pouring out of birth labs to be sex slaves … programmed machines explicitly designed to bring our sickest fantasies to life. If there's any corner of humanity's collective soul that is still unsoiled, that would have been the end of it."

Lee felt sick, but it was a sickness not of the body but of the spirit.

"Natalie was right … gods, but she had us pegged! For the first time, I had a glimpse of what humans must look like to Cylon eyes … and it's not a pretty sight. There are so many dark places inside us, so much ugliness. I could see it all, Creusa. I could see myself buying you, using you to satisfy all my needs because that way I wouldn't have to give anything of myself in return. I could see myself becoming more and more callous, more and more uncaring, using other people for my own advancement but otherwise never giving a damn about them. Human ingenuity would have robbed us of what little humanity we have left."

"I don't know that Lee Adama," Creusa protested. "How could I, when he doesn't even exist? The man I know is selfless. He climbs into his Viper every day and he goes out to fight … to protect people he doesn't even know. He risks his life for others, even when the odds seem hopelessly stacked against him. And yet, he fights without hatred in his heart, despite the fact that the enemy is another species … a race of … machines. He's open to other possibilities; he understands that today's enemy may be tomorrow's friend. What he really hates is injustice … exploitation. He'll fight to keep the Cylons in this fleet safe from abuse, to secure rights for us, and he'll go on risking his life—for humans and Cylons alike. And Lee Adama will come into my bed- a Cylon's bed- and he will make love to me, but so gently that I cannot possibly reinjure myself in the process."

Creusa leaned forward to kiss him. "I know what you were doing, Lee; I understand you far better than you realize. How can I ever thank you for caring so much? You have taught me the meaning of compassion."

"_But why am I here?"_ Lee's voice was anguished. "Really, Creusa, why am I here? Is it because you are this incredibly beautiful, intelligent and heroic woman who takes my breath away? Or is it because, when something happens that makes me want to drive you away, I'll be able to kid myself that you're a machine and you don't have feelings … not really."

"Lee, you would never be that dishonest." Creusa's smile was genuine and heartfelt. "You enjoy tormenting yourself far too much to ever take refuge in that particular excuse. Perhaps one of us will drive the other away, but if it happens, both of us will know why. We won't kid ourselves. But it shouldn't happen. I feel this powerful sense of connection between us … I felt it the first moment I saw you. I truly, deeply believe that our being together is a part of God's plan for us both. Apollo and Creusa … can't you sense it?"

"I'm sorry, Creusa, but I don't believe in the gods, singular or plural. I don't believe in destiny—that leads to a universe far too mechanical for my liking. All I know is that I'm happy when we're together. I just don't know why, and that's what's bothering me. I need to sort out my feelings."

"No, Lee, you don't. You don't have to psychoanalyze everything. You don't have to find the answer today. You could simply choose to accept the emotional bond that holds us together, and have faith that the future will reveal the answer you seek. What we have is a gift, Lee, and it could be taken away from us at any moment. One or both of us could die on Kobol."

"Kobol? Creusa, you are not going down to the surface. Forget it."

"You're going, aren't you?"

"Of course. I really don't have any choice in the matter."

"No, Lee, you do have a choice … or rather, you would have a choice if your sense of duty wasn't quite so overwhelming. But it is … that profound sense of duty is a very large part of who you are. So, you'll risk your life for us … again … but you will not risk it alone. Those days are over. I'm cylon, Lee, and I heal quickly. I'll be fine. We'll do this together."

Lee Adama's heart was a stormy sea. A small part of him acknowledged that Creusa was right, and in that place he could hear a tiny voice chiding him for refusing to accept his feelings for what they were. But the rest of him was fighting back. The part that was terrified by the prospect of commitment was trying to drown that tiny voice in the deep, dark waters of self-pity and rampant insecurity. Lee could only seek temporary shelter from the storm.

"Okay … we'll go find Earth together."

. . .

"How long till we jump?" Now that she had cast the die, Laura Roslin was anxious to get on with it.

"Two minutes," Leoben answered.

"Have any other ships declared themselves for us?"

"Just the _Astral Queen_." D'Anna Biers could not keep the disappointment out of her voice.

"Surprise, surprise," Lee commented under his breath.

Creusa smiled, and reached out to take his hand. "Have faith, Lee. God really does have a plan for us all. We will not make this voyage alone."

Roslin looked across the control room. "Does the hybrid have the coordinates?"

The Six at the secondary navigation console looked up and nodded.

"Natalie," Laura said, "it's time. Send the signal and jump."

D'Anna dipped her hand into the stream, and frowned in concentration. A moment later, a signal flare streaked into space; every captain in the fleet was watching as night turned temporarily into day.

. . .

"Sir," Gaeta reported, "the baseship has just jumped away. Likewise the _Astral Queen_."

"Thank you, Mister Gaeta," Adama replied. He turned to Saul. "Now we'll see how many follow."

"To sit around and wait while Starbuck wanders around with that stupid arrow?" The XO's voice was filled with contempt. "Two … three at the most."

. . .

"Just look at this place," Sam said. He slowly turned in a circle, his arms stretched wide. "Boys and girls, I think we've hit the mother lode!"

The supply depot was vast. A single, nondescript rectangular building, it was filled from floor to ceiling with bulky crates—and the ceiling was far above their heads.

Anders clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. "Okay, listen up, people. There's no way we can move all of this stuff back to our camp, so we're gonna concentrate on locating ammo, fuel, food and medicine. Hilliard, see if you can find an office. It's probably near a door someplace. Without an inventory sheet of some kind, we'll be in here for weeks! The rest of you, spread out, but don't touch anything until the centurions have checked it for tracers. If you find a fork lift, report in."

It had taken the resistance fighters more than a day to work their way around Delphi and reach their target, but Sam had already concluded that the payout more than justified the risks his people had run. He had brought forty humans and all eleven centurions along for the ride, and they had already stripped three pharmacies clean. Jean Barolay was currently leading a detachment through a rural hospital mere minutes away; if the pharmaceuticals were in a safe, the centurion he had assigned her would make short work of it. The centurions, Sam decided, were worth their weight in gold.

"I've found it!" Sam heard Karl Hilliard's triumphant cry echoing from somewhere deeper inside the cavernous facility.

_Right, _Sam thought. _It's time to go shopping. . . ._

"Hey, T. … have a look at this." Sam was inside the tiny cubicle that served as the supply depot's office. He was poring over page after page of computer print-out; they had hit the mother lode, all right, but it was going to take time to figure out what was where.

Anders looked up, and frowned. Karl was examining a shipping manifest, and something clearly puzzled him. "What's wrong?"

"It's not so much wrong as weird," Hilliard replied. "T., if I'm reading this right, sixty days before the attacks the only thing being stored in this place was cobwebs. Everything that we're looking at … it was brought in right before the end. And look at this. The food … the medicine … they're underground. There's a basement level to this place that we haven't even found yet … some kind of hardened bunker. T., maybe I'm just paranoid or something, but I'd swear someone was preparing for a nuclear holocaust."

Sam laughed. "Of course they were. That's what the military does … or did. They've got a plan for every contingency, and a contingency for every plan!"

"But that's just the thing," Hilliard countered. "Sam, wouldn't a supply officer sign off with his name, rank, serial number, and unit ID?"

"Yeah, sure … it never varies."

"Well, the only thing I've got here is a name … Marcus Greene. There's no rank … no nothing. Sam, whatever this place is, I don't think it's military. I don't think it's military at all. Have the toasters found tracers, sensors … anything?"

"No," Anders admitted. "It's like this place isn't even on the grid."

. . .

"How many?"

Felix Gaeta continued to study the DRADIS display. He wanted to be sure.

"Twenty four ships, sir." Gaeta's tone and expression were both studiously neutral.

"Gods, Bill … that's almost a third of the fleet. Twenty fours ships chose the baseship over us. How in the name of the gods did this happen?"

"Why are you surprised, Colonel?" Shelly Godfrey didn't think there was any mystery here at all. "Laura Roslin is appealing to people's hopes while you cater to their fears. You should consider yourself lucky that you only lost twenty four."

. . .

Natalie Faust removed her hand from the stream, and looked at Laura Roslin. "Madame President, the fleet has achieved a stable orbit. We're over Kobol's northern hemisphere; in fact, we're directly above the City of the Gods."

"Kobol," Laura breathed. "Elosha, we've come home. The planet of the gods, the birthplace of mankind … Kobol is the birthplace of us all."

"That's true, Laura," the priestess replied, "but it's also a graveyard. The scriptures tell us that any return to Kobol carries with it a cost … in blood. Some of us will die down there."


	13. Chapter 13: The Long War: Homecoming I

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXTENDED SCENES OF EXTREME VIOLENCE AND BRIEF BUT GRAPHIC SEXUALITY**

**This chapter builds upon events in chapter 7 of season one. Readers who have not yet read this chapter are invited to do so before undertaking chapters 13-14 of season two.**

CHAPTER 13

THE LONG WAR: HOMECOMING

PART I

"Kara, we've jumped to Kobol. It's time for you to go."

"No, John, I'm not going anywhere. Not until we've finished. Once I enter the tomb, there's no turning back … and I'm no longer sure that the Thirteenth Tribe deserves to have us come knocking on their door. Maybe Cylons and humans should have to prove that they can live together first. Maybe we should be looking for a cozy little planet to call our very own."

John Bierns was hard pressed to disagree. He had seen the best and the worst of both species, and his own career was hardly a testament to virtue. _We're all deeply flawed,_ he thought, _and Kara's seen to the heart of it. We still don't know whether we can overcome our differences, and at the end of the day that's the only question that matters. Live together or perish separately: sometimes I get so caught up in the details that I forget that we're fighting not just to survive but to have a chance to prove that we're worthy of survival. Cottle would probably chalk it up to combat fatigue … and maybe rightly so. I've been playing cat and mouse for a long time, and for sure I've taken my lumps. But Cavil never takes a day off, so neither can I. Shelly, Lydia, Sibyl, the centurions … there are so many in this fleet who deserve something better than a life spent wandering through the emptiness of space. Harlan was right … you can talk all you want about principles and ideals, but war is ultimately about people. You can't survive without accumulating debts, and no one gets to default. I owe you, General … you and Richard both … and I'll pay the debt. But war is also about payback, and John Cavil and I have a huge score to settle. Yeah, One, the day's coming when I'll be able to attend to you personally—and the frakkin' sooner the better! _When it came to the hatred in his own heart, John Bierns had no illusions whatsoever.

"Kara, what can I tell you? Harlan's plan was amazingly simple, but that's why it was so brilliant. We couldn't risk snatching one of the Cavils—and they were the only worthwhile targets. The others were unlikely to tell us anything that we didn't already know. So, we had to reverse the field. Harlan ran a variation on what agents call a honey trap. The idea was to set me out as bait, and get one of the Cylon women to reel me in. The objective was to get me onto a baseship and jumpstart a dialog. Richard even empowered me to represent him … to serve as his personal envoy. We figured that, while the Cylons might go on boycotting the scheduled talks at the Armistice Station, once we openly confronted them on their own turf they would have no choice but to open backdoor negotiations. It took a long time to bait the trap, but in the end it worked fine. The problem was that we had started from a certain set of assumptions, and the most crucial one turned out to be wrong. The Cylons weren't interested in talking. The clock was already ticking down, and it was far too late to stop it."

"Backdoors, honey traps … John, I keep thinking that this was all just a game to you and your buddies. Our side moves a piece onto this square, and their side moves to block. So you move another piece … seriously … was any of it ever real to you? Did you ever actually stop to think that fifty billion people might die if you got this wrong?"

"It was _never_ a game for Harlan, Kara, anymore than it was for General Pinkert. There's a wall in the atrium of our headquarters that's covered with plaques. They're very simple: a name, and the number of years, months and days of service of every CSS agent who has died on active duty. Every single one of us took the oath in front of that wall. Pinkert and Berriman recruited most of us personally, and every time they sent us out the door they knew that we might not make it back alive. Believe me … they understood the connection between action and consequences. But if you're asking about me personally, I honestly don't know what to say. Maybe it was all a game … until Mara died. The people I killed? It never touched me. You're right, Kara, they were just pieces on the board, and they had to be sacrificed to give us a chance to survive. Even Mara's death … I had the report on my desk two hours after the fact. I read it, and it didn't touch me. It wasn't real. It wasn't until I got home … it wasn't until I walked into the bathroom and picked up her hairbrush. I saw a few strands of her hair and that's when it hit me—that she was gone, and she wasn't coming back."

John's voice broke. "I killed her, Kara … not Cavil … me. If it was a game, then it was a very deadly game and I broke the rules, only I broke the wrong rules. I loved her and I wanted to tell her but I couldn't because then it wouldn't have been a game anymore and I was so afraid. I was selfish and afraid, _and I killed her_!"

"_Stop it," _Kara screamed. _"Stop it!"_

Starbuck turned away, and stumbled along the edge of the pond. She brought her hands up to cover her ears, though she couldn't tell whether she was trying to shut out the sound of John's voice or keep all the pain and guilt from seeping out of her. She sensed Reun come up behind her, and fell into her arms. Kara wanted to be held, wanted someone to make it all go away.

"_I killed Zak,"_ she whispered, the horror of it still fresh in her mind. _"I loved him and I destroyed him. I love Lee, but I can't love him because I'll destroy him too. I'm the angel of death, Reun, and I'll destroy anyone who comes close."_

"Yes, Kara, you're right," Reun softly answered. "Your love can destroy Lee … but only because he wants it too. He's pursued by demons of his own … even you can see that … and he wants you to punish him. It's not death that he seeks so much as it is oblivion."

"_Creusa?"_

"She can save him. She does not yet possess the patience or the wisdom to do so, but her faith in Lee will never waver. It may be enough."

"_Then I have to stay away."_

"If you truly love him … yes, you have to stay away."

"_Reun? I love you. Does this mean that I … that I …"_

"I don't know, Kara. You are the harbinger of death, but it is also your destiny to guide all to their appointed end. This would make sense if death was the end of all things, but it isn't. I cannot reconcile the things that I know to be true. There's too much confusion here."

. . .

Larissa Karanis studied Kara Thrace. Starbuck's face had gone slack, and her eyes were vacant. _What, _she wondered, _would an EEG show? Would it flat line? Is Kara Thrace still in there, or has she gone somewhere else?_

Larissa thought about the incredible patterns that had lit up the monitor above John's head. Doctor Gerard had been unable to decipher the screen, but the brain surgeon hadn't talked with Natalie and Leoben. He didn't know what he was dealing with. _John, there's another mind at work inside your head, isn't there? You and Reun really have merged, haven't you?_

. . .

John pulled Starbuck close, and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I'm sorry, Kara; I'm not usually this insensitive, but I have been known to go through some really bad days. Maybe this is one of them."

She patted his back, which was as close to an apology of her own as she could get. "Does this mean that super secret agents occasionally break out into a sweat when they're killing the bad guys and saving the planet?"

"Sorry, but I can't help you, Starbuck." John smiled. "The spooks who specialized in saving the planet worked in another department."

Kara took a deep breath, and looked up into his eyes. "So how does a honey trap work?"

"Slowly. You can't rush these things … it's hard enough even to control them. This one took over a year to execute."

"_A year? _And you spent two years training for it? Gods, John …_ three years for a single mission?"_

"Yeah, and at that it was a rush job. First, we had to plant rumors … lots and lots of rumors. The President's office was leaking like a sieve anyway, so we started there. Harlan went over personally to brief Adar, his senior advisers, and several cabinet members. He told them that, as unlikely as it might seem, there was a strong possibility that the Cylons had breached the security of one of the intelligence services. Oh, there was a lot of verbiage, but that's all he really said. He wanted to work on their imaginations."

"On cue, the President instructed him to brief the other security chiefs, but Richard improvised and threw in an inspired suggestion of his own. He ordered Harlan personally to make the rounds of the key defense contractors, and bring their heads of security up to speed as well. Fast forward a month, and Picon fleet headquarters was awash in rumors. Their MI guys didn't like us very much … indeed it's fair to say that they didn't like us _at all_, so when the rumors bounced back to us they had acquired a synergy all their very own. They were no longer vague; it was the Colonial Secret Service that had been penetrated." John's voice swelled with admiration. "Kara, when it came to reading bureaucratic tea leaves, Harlan was a genius. He had not only anticipated this … he was counting on it!"

Bierns guided Starbuck back to the boulder; he sat down, and patted the rock beside him. "We let the rumors percolate for a while, and then the President summoned Harlan to a carefully scripted and very heavily attended meeting. They both played the audience beautifully. Richard 'demanded' to know what the hell was going on. Naturally, Harlan denied everything, but by this point we had spread a few rumors of our own—all to the effect that Harlan was turning the Service upside down trying to find a Cylon agent. The idea was to suggest that somebody on the payroll was selling secrets on the side; the last thing on Caprica that we wanted was for someone to jump the gun and start imagining humanoid Cylons in our midst!"

Kara stared at John with a kind of dread fascination. This was not the sort of thing that cadets were taught at the Academy. The bureaucratic in-fighting was understandable, but what John was describing amounted to wholesale manipulation of the entire government. _Gods! Was anything that appeared in the press real, or was it all manufactured by people like Harlan Berriman?_

"John, there's one thing that I don't understand. You wanted these rumors to reach the Cylons, right? But the One who killed Mara knew the truth … he knew exactly who you were. Why would you expect the Cylons to take the bait?"

"Mara's murder told us that the Ones still had secrets to protect. Our analysts concluded that they would have to jump all over these rumors to distract the other models … keep them far away from the truth. We were trying to force the Cavils to react in a very specific way at a time and place of our choosing."

Kara could only shake her head in wonder. She was finally beginning to accept that she had come very late to a war that had been going on for many years. The real war had been fought in the shadows, the first salvos fired not on the battlefield but by a handful of men and women who had conceived and executed a desperate plan to crack the enemy from within. Fifty billion people were dead … an entire civilization had been obliterated, but Deirdre was right—not only was the war still ongoing but the outcome was truly in doubt. _I may be crazy,_ Kara thought, _but we may actually be winning! Roslin … the Old Man … compared with these guys, they're babes in the woods!_

"John, remind me to give you a cloak and dagger for your next birthday. This is amazing stuff. It puts all of those Rex Caesar spy flicks to shame."

"I've never seen a video," Deirdre sighed.

"I'd like to try reading a book," Reun cut in; "poetry would be nice … maybe something by Kataris?"

"_What?" _Starbuck was aghast. _"Are you telling me that you can't read? That's hard to believe!"_

"Why?" Reun was baffled. "We keep one eye on gauges, and with the other we gaze upon infinity. We're supposed to be machines. Tell me … was your oven literate?"

"Uh … well … no."

"There you are, then."

John cleared his throat. "Are we done here?"

Kara laughed, and punched him playfully on the arm. "Nice try, superspy, but no … we're not done. Keep going."

"So, you're okay?"

"I have my ups and downs, but booze and meaningless sex do take the edge off. I get by."

"That's not what I meant!" John looked at her more closely, and let out a long sigh. "Right … never mind. Okay, we're fourteen … maybe fifteen months out, and the rumors had firmed up nicely. It was time to give them a face. Harlan was on the A list, and he was drowning in invitations. Although he never attended events, all the serious players nevertheless invited him to their parties. Can you imagine what a coup it would be if someone actually persuaded him to come? Just envision a gaggle of bored trophy wives gathered round, exchanging cocktail conversation with the chief spy … the head of the most secretive department in the whole government. It doesn't get any more romantic than that."

John laughed at the absurdity of it all. "So, Harlan began to accept the invitations, only he dispatched me in his place. Major Bierns joined the canapé circuit. Almost overnight, I became the celebrity spy, and in no time at all I was receiving invites in my own name. Once Harlan had leaked my nickname, the formal invitations increased fivefold. No one knew what it meant, but 'Lord High Executioner' sounded so delightfully sinister. I brought an air of mystery and danger to parties that otherwise tended to be quite tedious. I even started carrying a gun in a shoulder holster; it bulged nicely under my jacket."

Kara clapped her hands in droll approval. "Your sex life must have gone off the charts!"

John grinned. "My proverbial fifteen minutes of fame. But this was no game, Kara. We were trying to construct a public persona—the deadly, unscrupulous, and possibly corrupt intelligence operative who went to parties in search of beautiful women that he could drag back to his bed. It was all for the benefit of the Cylons, who also showed up at these affairs with some regularity. I ran into one of the Cavils at a ministerial gathering, and a Five was now working public relations out of the President's office—probably the one that you left at Ragnar. I saw a lot of D'Anna Biers, especially in Caprica City; she was also on the A list, and she was tuned in to all the latest gossip. In essence we wanted the Cylons to get a good look at me, and to feel confident that there was a way they could grab me without putting any of their own agents at risk."

"So down at street level the Cylons were hearing rumors that they had penetrated the CSS. It must have confused them no end—everybody except the Cavils, who knew it was all nonsense but couldn't tell the others why. You were boxing them in."

"You're quick, Kara … in fact, you're almost there. But you have to remember that Mara told Cavil about me … that's why she died. The Ones had known for several years that D'Anna's child had grown up to become a CSS agent, so they could see how the rumors might have a basis in fact. Fending off queries from their own agents must have become increasingly awkward—and we wanted to make it impossible. So, we ratcheted up the pressure. Shortly after the thirty-ninth anniversary of the Cimtar Accords, Harlan began to tie it all together. He used Adar's office to leak bits and pieces of my medical file into the public domain. No one who got a look at this material would ever conclude that I was human … not if they knew a damn thing about science. Hence by process of elimination I would have to be a Cylon … a humanoid Cylon. That's the way Harlan's mind worked, Kara. I swear, his brain was more labyrinthine than a Tauranian puzzle box."

"I think I see where this is going," Starbuck interjected. "Left to their own devices, the Ones would never have taken the bait, so you had to tie their hands. You baited the hook for someone else … someone like D'Anna Biers … and you made it so easy to reel you in that her controller couldn't refuse without arousing suspicion in the ranks."

"Starbuck, go to the head of the class! We had D'Anna squarely in our sights. About six weeks later, I ran into her at one of those fancy garden parties … you know the type … catered, with a rental orchestra on somebody's back lawn."

"Sure," Starbuck sprightly replied, "I used to attend parties like that all the time."

"_Touché,"_ John laughed. "Anyway, we were on a first name basis, and she wasn't shy. She walked right up to me, two glasses of champagne in hand, and asked if her favorite Cylon needed a drink. Kara, you'd have been proud of me. I never missed a beat. I told her that the bubbles played hell with my circuits, and come the morning I'd probably have to reboot, but it was a small price to pay for an evening of her company. I was supposed to seduce her, or let her seduce me, but I freaked out. D'Anna didn't look much like my mother, but still … "

"Incest is a very strong taboo?"

John nodded vigorously. "I just couldn't do it, which meant that we were back to square one. It took several months to line up another well placed target, but this time we struck tylium. Gaius Baltar started showing up at these affairs with a gorgeous, platinum haired Six on his arm. She had her hooks in deep, which intrigued us because Baltar was so well connected at Defense. We knew he had a contract to network the fleet's computers, and he was collaborating with a number of people in the weapons development program. Doctor Amarak's boys and girls were way out on the cutting edge, so Natasi potentially had access to some pretty scary stuff, even if it had yet to make its way off the drawing board."

"Amarak … Amarak." Starbuck snapped her fingers. "Wasn't he Shelly Godfrey's boss?"

"Yeah. I didn't know any of the details at the time; Amarak's operation was extremely sensitive, and it wasn't part of my brief. All Harlan ever told me was that there was a Six in Amarak's office, and that the two of them were romantically involved. I remember suggesting that we ought to have someone host an intimate little dinner party and invite Amarak, Baltar, and their significant others. It would have been fun to see what happened when two Sixes sat down opposite one another."

"You mean fun as in watching them break the necks of everybody in the room in order to protect their identities?"

"Starbuck, you really should have been working for us. That was pretty much the General's reaction."

"I'll bet. What'd he actually say?"

"Um … that he was starting to worry about me? I was just kidding around, but he probably wondered whether I was on the verge of burning out. The CSS wasn't the most stable collection of personalities in the Colonies. The divorce rate was appallingly high, there were suicides, and alcoholism was a serious problem. A lot of our retirees gravitated to seaside villages on Aquaria and Picon where the authorities turned a blind eye to prostitution and illegal narcotics. They drank up their pensions in back street bars—believe me, the money goes fast when you've got a pretty, young bar girl hanging on each arm."

"John, you're preaching to the choir. Your guys sound just like your average Viper jock—we were perpetually broke, and pretty much for the same reason. Still, it's good to hear that you got out once in a while and dipped your toe in the real world!"

"Oh, I was the poster child for emotional stability, Starbuck … the stone cold, part-time assassin who fell in love with a known Cylon agent and wept like a baby when she died. Don't you find that a little … odd?"

"Not in the slightest. Well, maybe weeping instead of getting drunk and heaving your guts out … maybe that was a little strange. Every time we lose a pilot I drink myself under the table."

"I've noticed … any chance of reforming your public image?"

"Zero chance. Finding out that I'm half Cylon doesn't mean that I'm going to turn over a new leaf. Kara Thrace is and always will be the meanest mother frakker ever to have climbed into a cockpit! No one's going to take that away from me! So, tell me about Natasi."

"She was part of the third wave, so she'd already been under cover for more than a year when she was first brought to my attention. Kara, she's incredible. No one, and I do mean no one, would ever pick up on the fact that she's a Cylon. She strikes me as a bit too rehearsed, but her mimicry of human behavior is otherwise flawless, right down to the smallest details. Her learning program must be incredibly sophisticated."

"That's pretty cold. Maybe she evolved. Maybe Baltar, the gods bless his selfish little heart, inspired her to reach beyond the limits of her programming. Maybe she's more like us now."

John shrugged his shoulders, conceding the point. "I've always thought in terms of adaptation rather than evolution, especially with regard to the Sixes, but Natasi would agree with you. She insists that a capacity for love is not built into her programming, but she also insists that she loves Gaius. If you think you're in love, then I guess you are. But in any event we may be talking apples and oranges here. Granted, she's a machine … but so are human beings. The human learning program is certainly no less sophisticated than the cylon, and it may well be far more so. In my mind the 64,000 cubit question has always been whether human beings have a monopoly on humanity. Is compassion instinctive, or is it learned? If we learn how to be good people, why can't the Cylons learn the same lessons?"

He shrugged again. "They've obviously mastered the worst human traits with ease, but I once trusted the Six with no name with my life, and my faith in Shelly Godfrey is absolute. I do not mean to suggest that either one of them walks on water, but I believe that they are both humane in the truest sense of the word. Whether we can generalize from a few copies to the entire model is not a question I feel qualified to answer. All I can do is tell you what took place on the baseship, and leave you to draw your own conclusions. It's a complicated story, and my feelings about what happened are … ambivalent."

Kara remained silent. There just didn't seem to be anything for her to say.

"Oddly enough, we did use a dinner party to make the approach. Gaius Baltar may be witty and charming, but back on Caprica he maintained a flamboyant life style that was well beyond his means. This condemned him to scrounge for consultancy fees, research grants, and everybody's personal favorite—the government contract that didn't draw too fine a distinction between personal and research expenses. Harlan arranged for a friend on the Defense Appropriations Committee to host an intimate little gathering. There was no way that Baltar was going to turn down an invitation from Mitchell Mackay, and the good doctor wasn't the kind of man to pass on an opportunity to flaunt his new girlfriend. Mitch was in the loop, and he was more than willing to ask certain leading questions, but in the event Baltar beat us to it. He loved to dominate the conversation, and he liked to show off … to demonstrate that he knew things that only someone well connected politically could possibly know. Kara, imagine the scene … Baltar and Natasi are seated directly opposite one another, and I'm seated to Natasi's immediate left. The main course and dessert are behind us, and coffee and ambrosia are being served. Gaius has just lit up a cheroot, and he's leaning back in his chair, appraising me. . . ."

"_So, Major, what am I to make of the rumors that I keep hearing? You know, the allegation that the Cylons have got someone inside the Colonial Secret Service? That's bizarre enough, but everywhere I turn these days, there are people whispering that you are a Cylon."_

_Lacy Mackay choked on her coffee, and openly glared at Baltar. Her husband put his own cup down, and stiffly addressed the self-proclaimed genius._

"_Really, Doctor, aren't you being a little … indiscreet?"_

"_Oh, I don't think so," Baltar coolly countered. "I mean, the rumors are out in the public domain. I've not just come across them in the halls of the Admiralty and Defense … they've also been a very hot topic of conversation at certain parties I've attended of late."_

"_Mitch, it's okay. I've been getting strange looks for months, and that investigative journalist, D'Anna Biers? She teases me constantly, calls me her favorite Cylon. Doctor, it all stems from certain … oddities in my medical history. My blood doesn't type, and my DNA is so far outside human norms that it calls the whole theory of evolution into question. But here's the one that you'll really appreciate: my blood contains no antigens."_

_Baltar's jaw dropped, and his eyes almost jumped out of his head. "You can't be serious," he lamely replied. "That's simply not possible."_

"_Oh, I'm quite serious. I do have an immune system, but you would be hard pressed to call it human. In fact, to date no one has been able to figure out quite how it works. You know how rumors get started, Doctor. I'm an orphan, so my parentage has always been a mystery, and there's more than enough here to make it altogether suspect. Since the only other species out there to our knowledge is the Cylons, if I'm not human then I must be a machine … a new and improved kind of toaster!"_

"Natasi handled all of this beautifully. We made small talk during dinner, and when Baltar dropped his bombshell she displayed interest, but it was polite … she didn't do or say anything that would trigger an alarm. When the evening was over, I had a few minutes with her alone while Gaius went off in search of his limousine driver. . . ."

"_Natasi, I apologize for being so inattentive during dinner. It bordered on rudeness. It's just that conversations can get a bit awkward when people find out that I'm …"_

"_The Lord High Executioner? I attend the same parties, Major, and you can take it for granted that I've heard the same rumors."_

"_So, aren't you afraid to be standing out here alone with the big, bad Cylon?"_

_She smiled, and her eyes lit up with merriment. "Shall I scream for help?"_

"_Why do I get the feeling that I'm the one who needs rescuing?"_

"_Perhaps you're overmatched."_

"_Indeed. Please give me a chance to make a better impression … lunch or dinner tomorrow?"_

"_I'm sorry, but Gaius and I have already made plans."_

"_They're about to change. Doctor Baltar doesn't know it yet, but he's leaving for Picon in the morning. He's going to be tied up in meetings for the next several days at fleet headquarters."_

"_Now I am impressed. You can make Gaius jump through hoops by simply snapping your fingers?"_

"_Let's just say that this dinner had an ulterior purpose."_

"_Lunch or dinner," she murmured. "Why don't you give me your number, and I'll call you."_

"_Yes, that would probably be for the best. Here's my card. You can reach me at any time, day … or night."_

"Two days later, it turned out to be both lunch and dinner, and then back to her place … for the night. We were both so heavily engaged in seduction that we would have needed a scorekeeper to figure out who was ahead on points. I was confident that she had set a honey trap of her own, so I was just waiting for the lid to slam shut. It happened the following night. I went straight to her apartment from a meeting in the President's office. We were supposed to go out to dinner, but she wanted to have a drink first. My whiskey and soda had one hell of a kick. When I woke up, I was on a Cylon baseship … naked and chained. I know that sounds like cheap porn, but it's the truth!"

"Ouch! This sure doesn't feel like the homecoming that you were counting on. What in the name of the gods went wrong?"

"As strange as it might seem, nothing had gone wrong. Oh, Cavil had me at his mercy, but we discounted the possibility that he would kill me outright—there was just too much useful information floating around inside my brain. That call was spot on. We reasoned that a prolonged interrogation on colonial soil was impractical for all sorts of reasons, not the least of them being that Cavil would have to rely on the very agents that he was trying to keep in the dark. No, we expected him to bundle me up and smuggle me out of the Colonies to the nearest baseship, so everything went just the way we had planned. The accompanying instructions undoubtedly read something along the lines of 'senior CSS officer—bleed dry', but Cavil would have sat on all of the rumors that were swirling around me. We were counting on that—having me stake a claim to my Cylon birthright was our fallback position, and it certainly sat atop my personal agenda, but the real intent of the operation was to confront the Cylons with a presidential envoy. It was all misdirection, Kara. Harlan wanted Cavil to look off to the side while he slipped a ringer in under his nose. We expected the Cylons to be impressed: they weren't."

. . .

"When I was coming around, it felt like I was a hundred feet under water. Not drowning, exactly, but unable to find my way to the surface. The sun was up … down … I vividly remember asking myself how it could be in two different places at once. Eventually I clawed my way into the light … one small pool of brightness in a sea of otherwise uniform darkness. Kara, I tried to find the source, but every time I looked up, I saw two suns. Groggy and disoriented doesn't even begin to describe it. It literally felt like I was trying to swim through mud. Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be nothing more exotic than pherylbenzylene. As date-rape drugs go, it was a good choice. It's tasteless and fast, but Natasi must have slipped me a dose sufficient to sedate a horse!"

"I couldn't focus on a damn thing, but we're trained to use all of our senses to interpret our surroundings. The first thing I tried to do was feel my beard. That's when I discovered that I was in irons … manacles fastened to a waist chain, with very little play. If I couldn't see anything, I could still feel the cold steel on my wrists and around my waist. My ankles were shackled as well, with a lead attached to a grommet that was anchored to the floor. I wasn't going anywhere."

"There's a series of checks that we're supposed to run in these situations. The stubble on my cheeks told me that I'd been out for about sixty hours, which was more than enough time for the Cylons to have given me an exhaustive physical. But I couldn't find any puncture marks … not on the neck, not on the arms … I drew a blank. Not unexpected, perhaps, but bad news nevertheless: if they hadn't taken a blood sample, then they wouldn't have bothered with saliva or tissue—so, no DNA analysis. My hosts would presume that I was just another human, and setting the record straight wasn't the straightforward proposition that you might think."

"I was about to say," Starbuck objected, "that you could have brought them up to speed anytime you wanted. Why didn't you just scream bloody murder and ask what the frak they were doing to a fellow Cylon?"

"And if the blood test came back with the wrong results, what then? I'll tell you what … I would have been fish food!"

"Frak that! Then you tell them that you're a hybrid!"

"And we go about proving that … how? No, my best chance of getting off that ship alive was the diplomatic initiative, but if I had to fall back on my cylon heritage it was absolutely critical that they discover it for themselves. If I had forced the issue, they would have simply seen it as a measure of my desperation. Kara, believe me, you don't _ever_ want your captor to sense that you're that close to the edge."

"Yeah, yeah … name, rank, serial number. I know the drill. Don't give the bastards anything that they can use to gain a foothold."

"If you're trying to protect time-sensitive intelligence, sure, that's the way to go. But I wanted to strike up a conversation. We reckoned that the Cylons weren't seasoned enough to realize that an interrogation is a two-way street, with information flowing both ways. Would they hide the one question that was important to them inside twenty that were irrelevant? We didn't think they were that good. We expected their questions to take us to the heart of their vulnerabilities. So, if the diplomatic gambit failed, my job was to get them talking, and commit every question they asked to memory. If I could get out of there alive, the analysts would sort it all out after the debriefing."

Starbuck shook her head in disgust. "John, I've placed plenty of bets against long odds, but this is ridiculous. What are the chances of escaping a Cylon baseship?"

"Escape was never part of the equation, Kara. It never even came up for discussion."

_Everywhere he looked, he saw nothing but fog. But there was a noise in the mist, and as is always the case, the sound was magnified by the pervasive silence that otherwise prevailed. It was rhythmic, a steady click-click that was drawing closer and closer. It came to him all of a sudden: stiletto heels, a woman walking down a long corridor. And the Threes and the Eights had not been drawn to this particular human affectation. . . ._

"_Hello, Six, how are you today?"_

_Bierns noted with satisfaction that the Cylon's steps had faltered momentarily. He wanted to keep her off balance._

"_I'm fine, Major, um … thank you for asking. And how are you feeling?"_

"_Do you want the truth, or polite fiction?"_

"_The truth, Major." Bierns could not see the Six's lips curl into a hard smile. "I don't want you to get into the habit of lying to me."_

"_Fair enough. Well, let's see. I'm thirsty, quite possibly dehydrated, and my vision has been severely impaired. You're nothing at this point but a vague blur. Whatever Natasi put in my drink, she badly miscalculated the dose!"_

"_I'm sure that your vision will return, Major. But let me get you a glass of water."_

_The Six went to a table somewhere in the darkness. She returned moments later, glass in hand. She bent over, and held it to his lips._

"_Slowly, Major, slow … ly. I'm not going to yank it away from you at the last minute. Slow … ly."_

_To John Bierns, the water tasted like the finest ambrosia. "Thank you," he breathed. He was genuinely grateful. "But naked and chained? Come on, Six. Isn't this a bit melodramatic?"_

"_On the contrary, Major, think of your current state as a testament to your reputation. No one on this ship has any desire to become the Lord High Executioner's next victim."_

_Bierns couldn't help but grin. "Nicely played, Six … very nicely timed. Seriously, though, a lot of time and effort went into getting me here. I'm here to talk, not to pick a fight."_

_Six frowned. "You make it sound as if you are here by design."_

"_Precisely. Six, everything I told Natasi was true. I did go to her apartment directly from President Adar's office. I'm here on the President's behalf. Please consider this an effort at quiet diplomacy. The President wants peace. He wants to scrap the current armistice and replace it with a formal treaty. It's time for both sides to let go of the past and move on. Each of us has a lot to offer the other."_

"_President Adar? Would this be the same President Adar who sent his battlestars repeatedly across the Armistice Line?" Without warning, Six kicked Bierns viciously in the ribs, causing him to gasp in pain. She knelt down, grasped his head by the hair, and turned it so that she could look directly into his eyes. "Major, I don't know what game you're playing, but it's not going to work. We're not fools, and we don't appreciate being treated as such. Yes, you're going to talk, because I have lots of questions and I won't settle for anything less than full and truthful answers. Understand your situation, Major. You are on a baseship deep in cylon space. No one's coming to rescue you. Your life belongs to me, but what I do with it is strictly up to you. I'm not cruel, Major, and I don't wish to harm you. But if you refuse to cooperate, then you will leave me no choice. I will cause you more pain than you can possibly imagine, or possibly endure."_

_The Six relaxed her grip, only to take John's cheeks gently in both hands. "But I don't want to. I really don't. Talk to me, John, and I will show you the meaning of pleasure. I will become your woman, and bring your every fantasy to life." She kissed him, first gently and then with greater insistence. "I have no inhibitions, and I'm eager to try everything. I've never slept with a man before … never made love. I want you to become my lover." _

_She kissed him again, and Bierns couldn't help but respond. He leaned into the kiss that she offered, but the manacles on his wrists belied the promise in her eyes. He suddenly jerked his head away. "Sorry, Six, you're very good at this, but the only fantasy I'm entertaining at the moment is an enduring peace. There'll be time enough for us to play once we've established a framework for negotiations."_

"_I'm sorry, too, John, because if there was ever a time for negotiations, it has long since passed. Humanity's children are coming home, John, and very soon. Now tell me … how did you learn my model number?"_

"_Visions, Six … visions. You've been living in my mind for as long as I can remember." _

_The Six scowled. "Are you trying to be funny? You should know, Major, that none of us appreciate the human sense of humor." She reached down and pushed the palm of his right hand firmly against the floor with one hand while gripping the small finger with the other. Her intent was clear. "I'll ask you one more time. How did you learn my model number?"_

"_Six," he sighed, "I did not come here to lie to you. If you ask me a question that cuts too close to the mark, I'll keep silent. Right now, I'm telling you the truth. You, the Ones, the Threes, the Eights … you've haunted me for decades. You can ask me this question a thousand times, and you'll get the same response every single time."_

_John closed his eyes and tried to relax, but the Six was patient. She waited until he had opened his eyes, and then she broke his finger as easily as she might have snapped a piece of dried kindling. He rushed to embrace the pain, diluting it as he had been taught by instructors who had stressed that what could not be avoided could be managed. The trick was to channel the pain through the entire nervous system rather than allow it to overload the receptors in the brain. Still, a low moan escaped his lips, and a few beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead. His finger was now standing straight up, but the shock to the nervous system had already passed._

"_Major, did you know that there are over two hundred bones in the human skeleton, and that most of them can be fractured without putting a person's life at risk? We have lots of time, you and I, and I can and will keep doing this over and over and over again. You know that you'll break … in the end, everybody does. So why don't you save yourself a lot of pain and tell me what I want to know. It's an innocent enough question … really … it's just to satisfy my own curiosity."_

"_Well, I doubt if your friends will be pleased if you break every bone in my body over something so trivial. Why," he asked through gritted teeth, "don't you ask me something that's actually worth a broken finger or two?"_

"_All right, Major. Are there any Cylons in the President's office?"_

"_No … at least, not at the present." And that's the literal truth, John thought—Leoben is not actually "in" the President's office. His teachers had emphasized that the way to beat a truth serum … to beat any interrogation, really … was to seize upon the tiny nugget of fact that was buried inside the lie. Almost every question offered an out; it was his responsibility to find it._

"_But Mara was there five years ago … one of your sisters, Six. Mara was a presidential secretary. We were together for almost eight months, and I loved her. I knew what she was, and it didn't make any difference … I still loved her. I went on loving her even after Cavil murdered her. She was the first, but hardly the last. You'd be amazed at how many of your sisters have been killed by their handlers over the years."_

_The Six stared wordlessly at John Bierns for several moments. Then she shook her head; a human would have said that she was trying to shrug off her confusion._

"_How did you know, John? How did you know that she was a Cylon?" The Six reached out to grasp the little finger on his left hand._

_John Bierns gazed at the Six with a look that combined pity and resignation. She was close enough now that he could make out her features—or perhaps it was the case that the fog inside his brain was beginning to life. He gently covered her hand with his own. _

"_Six, I'm truly sorry that you cannot accept the truth when it is offered to you. You know the answer: it will never change. And I forgive you, Six. No matter how badly this ends, I want you to know that I … forgive you."_

_A harsh, choking sound welled up from her throat, but the Six hesitated only for a fraction of a second. She broke another finger, but this time she turned away. She heard his stifled cry, but it brought her no satisfaction, no sense of triumph._

"_Well," he finally gasped, "at least now I have a matched pair."_

"_This is getting us nowhere," the Six concluded. She got to her feet and walked off into the darkness. She returned with a syringe, which she promptly plunged into Bierns' neck. "Perhaps this will loosen your tongue."_

_John Bierns felt his mind cut loose, like a sloop that had slipped its mooring. 'Hallucinogenic,' he thought as he readied his defenses. He struggled to control his breathing, and to slow his pulse and heart rate. Drugs that induced anxiety or made the mind susceptible to suggestion relied on speed; they overwhelmed the mind like a tsunami crashing onto the shore. They were easily beaten, but it took discipline and training. John had both in abundance. He crouched in the bushes, waiting to pounce upon the questions that the unwary Six would pose._

"_Are there any Cylons engaged in the Defense Ministry's advanced weapons research program?"_

"_No," he grudgingly admitted. And that was the truth: Doctor Amarak's operation was not actually located in the Defense Ministry … it wasn't even on the same planet. The Doctor's main research facility was housed in a small and unpretentious building on the surface of Canceron, with the weapons research labs themselves buried deep underground. John doubted whether Shelly Godfrey had ever set foot inside the sprawling Defense complex._

_The questions came thick and fast, although the Six paused occasionally to add new chemicals to the heady stew that was already boiling inside John's brain. But the spook was in his element now; two years of training had fortified him against every drug in the Cylon arsenal. And like the Cylons themselves, John had an eidetic memory: he filed the questions away, although it became quickly apparent that the Cylons had one overarching fear. How much of their operation had been exposed? How many of their agents had been compromised? Was their plan of attack still viable? Every question was a variation on one underlying theme, and John did his best to ease the Six's fears. Constantly on the alert for the test questions that might trip him up, John Bierns wove a pattern of elaborate lies out of the raw material of tiny truths. When the sedative finally began to flow through his veins, and sleep was at last on the verge of overcoming him, the CSS agent decided that he had won the first round. He had planted the seeds of doubt in the Six's mind, he had offered her a complicated mix of truths, half-truths and outright lies, and he had pulled it all off without ever lying to her outright. But the First Born did not congratulate himself. One round did not a fight make. The Six was right: time was on her side, and the Cylons would keep coming at him, keep trying to trap him in inconsistencies and contradictions. This bout would be scored in the final rounds, not the first._

. . _._

When John Bierns awoke, he had no idea how much time had passed. He was thirsty, he was hungry—and he was clean-shaven. _Someone,_ he wryly noted, _has caught on to that little trick. _But the act itself was informative: _ why bother unless they're planning to put me on an accelerated sleep-wake cycle in order to disorient and confuse? _This was the one ploy that the spook actually feared. While it might appear benign to the uninitiated outsider, the technique was effective and deadly. The questions would never stop coming—the same questions, asked over and over again. The sleep-deprived mind could lose track of the answers tendered yesterday and the day before. The real interrogation would only begin when the contradictions began to surface.

But in the second round, the Cylons made a mistake. The Six returned to the hallucinogens, and that allowed John to feign a loss of concentration. His answers came slowly and with hesitation, in a speech that was progressively more and more slurred. He was surprised to see that his broken fingers had been set while he was out, and he wondered whether the Six was reluctant to go on torturing him physically. No matter … if she faltered, someone else would come along to take her place.

Time crawled by, and the Six became restive. The spook sensed that he had made a mistake, but he couldn't pinpoint it. _Perhaps,_ he thought, _my responses have been too consistent. Maybe I haven't shown enough loss of control, enough weakness. Maybe I haven't created openings that it's worth their while to explore._ John knew that he was in trouble when the Six gave him a long, despairing look, and two centurions suddenly loomed out of the darkness, their red eyes focused malevolently upon him. The machines picked him up and dropped him on his knees; one of them pushed his cheek hard into the floor. John felt the waist chain fall away, and then his wrists were pulled between his legs and the cuffs unlocked. The freedom was, however, illusory: a second set of cuffs appeared, and his wrists were quickly shackled to his ankles. John Bierns' ass was dangling in the wind.

"_I'm sorry that you wouldn't listen to me,_" he heard the Six say. _"I didn't want this."_ She injected him again- an agent to trigger anxiety- and then she disappeared into the darkness. He heard the sound of her heels recede into the distance, and he grew very afraid.

The pain, when it came, was searing. One of the males came out of nowhere to spear him from behind. Two years of brutal training had not included serial rape, and he screamed at the repeated invasion. They came for him, one after another, no respite between the blows, until he lost count of the number of his assailants. It seemed to go on forever, but at some point the pain dulled, and finally faded away. He felt nothing. _It's the blood,_ his dazed mind concluded; _I'm hemorrhaging, and the blood is acting as a lubricant. _With his head still locked in the centurion's vise-like grip, he couldn't see the pool of blood that was in fact gradually spilling onto the floor between his legs.

He sensed a new presence in the chamber, felt the sting of another injection. _"Such a pretty ass,"_ a female voice maliciously observed, _"but it won't stay that way for long!"_

John's mind recoiled with horror. _"Mother,"_ he cried, _"no! Don't do this! Leave now! Leave!" _But perhaps his cries of despair were only in his mind because the cane swooped down out of the air like some avenging Harpy, and one stroke became ten and then fifty and then a hundred. He could see the bloody welts in his imagination, coursing up and down his back and his buttocks, mutilating the flesh, transforming it into a kind of macabre battlefield. And his mother's voice beat down upon him without cease, the one question repeated _ad nauseam_: _"how did you know, Major? How did you know that D'Anna Biers was a Cylon?"_

He gave up answering, for the answering brought him no respite from the blows that rained down upon him, and he could no longer afford the luxury of divided concentration. John Bierns was at war with his own nervous system, and he had to bear down. _The pain feels so good,_ he repeatedly told himself, _so cleansing. This is my penance for what I did to Mara … my penance … my penance … my penance._ But the drugs continued their assault on his mind without interruption, and as the hours passed he began to glimpse holes in the armor with which he had girded himself.

He slept again, and he could no longer tell whether it was exhaustion or a sedative that had rendered him unconscious. He had no sense of time passing, but when he awoke he was on his feet, his arms stretched painfully above his head, his wrists chained to a bar that forced him to stand on the tips of his toes.

The Six was waiting for him, caressing his cheek. _"John, why are you doing this? Why won't you stop? All I want to know is how you learned my model number. Really, John, it's such a small thing … so meaningless. Tell me, and I'll make the pain go away. Tell me, and I'll protect you … take care of you. You'd like that, wouldn't you John? You loved my sister … perhaps you are also meant to love me. My model number, John … how did you learn my model number?"_

"_Six," _he creaked through parched lips, _"would you do me a favor? My back itches. Would you scratch it for me? Scratch it hard!"_

"_Oh, John,_" the Six said with regret as she pulled a syringe out of her pocket, _"why are you doing this to me? How can you hate me so much?" _She paused with the tip of the needle grazing his neck. "_I don't want to hurt you, but you keep pushing me down this path. Why won't you let me love you?" _She rammed the needle home and depressed the plunger. _"I want to hold you in my arms, feel your arms around me, pulling me close. My bed chamber is nearby, John. Wouldn't you like to go to sleep in a real bed, and wake in my arms?"_

The Six leaned forward and kissed him softly … ever so softly. She kissed his neck, licked the bruises that surrounded the puncture marks. Her fingers slowly wandered across his chest and stomach, finally coming to rest on his manhood. _"I want you, John,"_ she breathed; _"I want you so badly." _She began to stroke him, patiently coaxing him erect. She got down on her knees and took him in her mouth. His body stiffened under her soft but knowing touch, and he began to moan, feeling the hard edge of pleasure through the wall of pain that had become his constant companion. He willed his body to stop, but it refused to obey; his body wanted her to keep going … gods, but he would sell his soul for the relief that beckoned just over the horizon.

The Six took him close to the edge, and then she paused. She got up and walked out of his line of sight, and when she returned she was holding a leather whip, the ends of its many strands knotted into tight balls. She held the whip up to his eyes, and then she threw it over his shoulder and allowed it to settle on his back while she resumed stroking his penis. _"Pain or pleasure, John … I'll give you whatever you want. You can have me right now, on this floor, or you can have the whip. It's your choice."_

John chuckled … a dry, rasping sound. He raised his head to stare defiantly into her eyes. _"Six, you still haven't scratched my back, and the itch is getting worse and worse."_

They resumed. He could hear the whip whistling in the air in that last fraction of a second before the blow landed on his back, on his buttocks, and the pain exploded anew in his mind. At some point the Three returned, to stand in front of him and watch through narrowed eyes. The questions started anew.

"_How did you know, Major? How did you know that D'Anna Biers was a Cylon?"_

The Three began attaching electrodes to his body. The machine had come out of nowhere … or perhaps it had been there all along and he just hadn't seen it. His fingers, his testicles, the yawning wounds on his back … and when she flicked the switch and twisted the rheostat, he fled. His body remained on board the Cylon baseship, but his mind took flight to Galatea Bay. He was not even aware of the damage that a simple cigarette lighter began to inflict on his back.

. . .

It was the penultimate line of his defenses, and he had no explanation to offer himself or others. It wasn't daydreaming, it wasn't a too vivid imagination, and it wasn't hallucination. It was something else altogether, this strange ability to project his mind into another place that was so real that he felt like he was jumping dimensions. He was lying in the sand, lying on his stomach, looking out to sea. The warm sand relaxed him, and the gentle breeze tickled his spine. He wanted to scratch, but one of the unalterable rules of the universe dictated that you could never quite reach the place that itched. He relaxed, and let it go. In the far distance he could hear a whistling sound, and the scent of grilled meat reached him from close by. But he wasn't hungry. He just wanted to lie in the warm sand, feel the breeze on his back, and drift off to sleep.

The Three was infuriated. She had overdone it, and the subject had passed out. They would let him rest, let the pain recede … and then they would start again.

. . .

The Cylons were relentless. On the third day, the centurions wrapped his torso in barbed wire and took him down from the rack. Two of them hoisted his body into the air, and then they dropped him onto the floor. He landed hard on his back, and a fresh wave of pain washed over him as the barbs bit home. Chained once more to the bar, he was distracted by the pain when the Six began injecting still more drugs into his system. They came much more rapidly now, came one after another as the Cylons tried to find a combination that would break the subject down. He had answered many of their queries, but they had no confidence in what they had learned because he was still evading the control question. They had not yet broken his resistance, and a man who was capable of resisting was also a man who was capable of lying. They had no choice but to press ahead, although Simon kept reminding them that the drugs were sufficiently toxic to do physical damage to the brain. The subject might lapse into a coma at any time, he warned, and then this golden opportunity would be misspent once and for all. But the subject had to be broken, the others replied, or the entire exercise would come to nothing.

John Bierns fought the drugs … he fought them hard. But the combinations increasingly bedeviled him, and pain in tandem with the fever that he was now running sapped his concentration. Many of the lesions on his back had degenerated into open sores, and left untreated, they had become a haven for infection. Perhaps it was all in his head, but John swore that he could smell the stink of rotting flesh. When, therefore, the Three held the open cigarette lighter under his nose, he didn't know whether to be grateful or afraid: the flame that scorched flesh and triggered pain would also cauterize infected wounds.

John longed to return to Galatea Bay, but the increasingly frustrated Three refused to let him go. She repeatedly slapped him, and the force of the blows whipped his head from one side to the other. Finally, she held up a pair of pliers.

"_Behold, Major, an ordinary pair of pliers. They don't look like much, I grant you, but they will cause you an unbelievable amount of pain. I am going to get a grip on an exposed piece of your flesh and rip it off your body. Then I'm going to feed it to you; you haven't eaten in several days, and you must be hungry! When you've finished with your first morsel, I'll feed you a second … and then a third. Tell me what I want to know, Major, or I am going to skin you alive. For the last time, how did you know that D'Anna Biers was a Cylon?"_

_The spook shook his head. "Just so that you know, Three … I like my steaks medium rare!"_

_The Three looked at John Bierns with undisguised hatred, and then she slapped him again, much harder than before. When she walked out of his line of sight, John retreated to Galatea Bay, but the incredible pain that ensued a couple of seconds later pulled him back to the baseship. He heard a blood-curdling scream that froze the blood in his veins, and then he belatedly realized that it was emanating from his own mouth. No amount of training had prepared him for this: the pain consumed him._

"_Six, pinch his nose."_

_The Three waited until the subject opened his mouth to breathe, and then she shoved the mangled flesh deep into his throat and clamped his jaws shut._

_John gagged, and his entire body bucked violently._

"_Chew it quickly," the Six urged, "and never mind the taste. Just get it down and you'll be okay."_

_The spook complied, but the moment the Three relaxed her grip his stomach revolted, and he vomited all over her. His bowels loosened and his bladder emptied involuntarily: he looked in surprise at the mix of urine and blood that was running down his leg to puddle on the floor. The flogging had badly bruised his kidneys, but he knew that it was just a matter of time before he suffered far worse damage. _

"_Sorry, Three," he gasped in great, heaving breaths, the sweat pouring off his forehead and stinging his eyes, "but I told you … I like my meat medium rare. That was badly undercooked."_

"_John, stop it," the Six screamed, "just stop it! "This has gone on long enough. You have nothing left to prove. Why are you so stubborn? Is it a question of pride? Is it pride that keeps you from answering a stupid, meaningless question?"_

"_Gods damn it, Six, I've told you the truth! I haven't lied to you once." Although the major's breathing was terribly labored, the pain was so intense that it had driven the drugs from his system and brought him welcome clarity of mind. The exasperation in his voice was evident. "Do you want me to make something up? Will that make you happy? Okay, try this one on for size. Once …"_

_His body shook, and his stomach heaved. He tried to vomit, but nothing came out. "Once, when we were making love, I looked in the mirror and saw that Mara's spine was glowing. It was a spectacular shade of red, like embers in a glowing fire." He shivered and groaned as another wave of pain swept through him. "That happens to be true, but it is not how I knew that Mara was cylon. How many times do I have to tell you? I've known about you for decades." _

"_Right," the Three sneered, "you've seen us in your dreams. And how many times do we have to tell you that that's not good enough?"_

"_Not in my dreams," John corrected. "Oh, I had plenty of nightmares when I was a child, but the visions came to me during the day. I didn't want them, Three … I tried to run away. But how do you run away from something that's in your head?"_

"_I am so sick of your lies," the Three countered, "and that's all you've given us … one lie after another. Fine. We'll begin again, only this time we won't be so considerate. You can't see what's behind you, Major, but the next time the whip lashes you … why, you'll have a bird's-eye view. Everybody talks, Major, everybody breaks. It's just a matter of time … and we have all the time in the world. We also have some interesting toys … things that you have probably never seen before. I think that I'll introduce you to one of them right now! Centurion, bring him down."_

_The one-eyed machine cranked a winch, and the bar abruptly dropped. John's feet landed squarely on the floor, but his overtaxed muscles were incapable of supporting him. He would have collapsed, but the Six caught him. She took his weight, and he cradled his head against her chest. Muscle spasms wracked his calves, but he barely noticed pain that in ordinary circumstances would have dropped him to the floor._

"_I've got you," she soothed. "Don't be afraid … I've got you."_

_Two centurions loomed above his head; when the Three freed him from the bar, each grabbed an arm, and they frog marched him across the room, his legs dragging uselessly beneath him. He winced as the entire room was suddenly bathed in intense, unnaturally white light. He saw that the machines were draping him across a long, open-topped pedestal. What appeared to be blood was coursing through the trough beneath him, but the viscous liquid glittered with light. He panicked; he was certain that the machines were going to offer him up as a living sacrifice to some obscene divinity of their own creation. And then he remembered the report that he had read so long ago, about Cylon experiments on living flesh, and his panic increased tenfold. He struggled, tried to break free, but steel claws held him firmly in their grip. His head dangled on one side of the pedestal, his shackled feet on the other._

"_John, don't struggle. You'll only make it worse." The Six was speaking to him in a soft, calming voice, but memories long suppressed were now pouring into his conscious mind. He saw aunt Three being sliced open … aunt Sharon … their babies being dissected; he felt the needle punch through his hand, saw it plunge into his mother's chest, rising and falling in an endless procession, the two of them screaming with pain and fear and the despair that only comes with utter helplessness._

"_No," he raged, drowning in the memories, suffocating in the panic. "No! Please! No! Don't do this!"_

_The Three was holding a metal snake; it went on forever, and it was writhing in her hands. "You may have wondered why we were so intent on stretching you out."_

_He heard her voice, but it confused him. His mother was lying on a table, spewing curses at the One, yet she was also standing just inches away, saying something else. But the monster had bragged that he was going to put her in a box … how had she escaped?_

"_This is a very specialized tool … a variation on the one human doctors use to perform a colonoscopy. There's one hundred feet of it, and we're going to use this to clean out your insides. I hope you like organ meat, Major, because I'm going to feed you your own intestines."_

_Two more centurions came up behind him, to pin his legs. The Three began feeding the tube into his colon, snaking it higher and higher into his intestinal tract. He did not even feel the electrodes that the Six was simultaneously pushing deep into the lesions on his mutilated back._

_When the Three was finished, she closed a switch, and the snake began to inflate … it did not stop until it rested securely against the wall of his intestines. She pushed a button, and a million tiny needles punched into the wall. He screamed in raw agony._

"_Medium rare? Is that what you said, Major? Very well. We'll give it eight minutes; that should cook you to your satisfaction." The Three twisted a pair of rheostats, and current began to flow through his body._

_John Bierns' mind shattered._

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	14. Chapter 14: The Long War: Homecoming II

CHAPTER 14

THE LONG WAR: HOMECOMING

PART II

The behavioral psychologists who did Harlan Berriman's bidding were the best that twelve worlds had to offer. They acknowledged that their subject had an extraordinary gift, but they also knew that it would not be enough to save him. The Cylons would break him, and they judged that the machines would need less than a week to find the right pressure points. Doctor Erika Waldstein personally had never needed more than six days to conclude a debriefing, but after the third day, the death rate among her subjects still stood at one hundred percent. The more brutal the interrogation, the more assured the results—and it was a given that the machines would not labor under any restraints. Knowing that he would break, the psychologists had prepared the agent for this very moment. Using hypnosis and drugs, electric shock and behavior modification regimes grounded in isolation, deprivation and degradation, for two years they had schooled him to embrace the pain, and to graft it onto the tapestry of his nightmares. They had conditioned him to regard pain as the shadowy companion born of a lifetime of guilt, shame and self-loathing. Using advanced bio-feedback reinforcement that in any other setting would have meant life imprisonment, Doctor Waldstein and her team had cleverly prepared the last line of his defenses. The subject's mind was littered with triggers—but they would remain dormant until the Cylons had broken him completely.

Somewhere in John Biern's mind a switch closed and the agent regressed, becoming at once both infant and child. The doors in his mind, already ajar, flew open, and the pain fused with the raw core of his being—the loss of his mother, the deaths of his aunts, the deaths of brothers and sisters both born and unborn. The pain fueled rage for all that he had lost, and it began to fill the bottomless well of his guilt and shame. The nine year old child who had been immobilized by fear craved punishment for abandoning the very people whom he most loved. His mind collapsed into a feedback loop, memories taking the place of conscious thought. Doctor Waldstein was confident that the Cylons would never be able to break through her seals, never be able to extract the information they sought. But they would learn nonetheless.

For the Cylon gene did breed true. John Bierns wasn't simply trapped in a feedback loop that began at birth and ended with the death of Kara's mother … he was projecting.

. . .

"_Mommy? Get up, mommy. Please, we've got to go. The bad man is coming, mommy. He's going to hurt us, he's going to take you away from me! Mommy, please, you've got to run away. . . ."_

"_No! Don't hurt her! Please, I'll be good. I promise. Don't hurt my mommy, and I'll be good …"_

"_No!" Their screams masked the pain, the needle mutilating his hand before it punctured his mother's chest. _

_The gun came up: he heard the roar, saw the muzzle flash._

"_No!"_

_The old priest was there … always there … eyes black with fire studying him by day … tormenting him by night. He screamed, and the screams went on and on, for days and months and years, the child dreading the day and whimpering in fear through the endless hours of night._

_And then he was locked inside the room, too afraid to move, watching the nightmare unfold all over again. His aunts and their babies … the old priest was taking them away one by one. He was helpless to intervene … and he begged for forgiveness._

"_Aunt Three," he sobbed, "Aunt Sharon, I'm so sorry. I couldn't do anything … I couldn't save you …"_

_Finally, there was only Aunt Six and baby Kara … one last death and a promise that he had not always been able to keep._

"_She has an honest-to-goodness aunt," the old priest had sneered, the gun lying in the palm of his hand. "A colonial marine no less … and she's married to a shiftless daydreamer. Can you imagine it, Six? Your little girl is going to be raised by a frustrated noncom and a worthless pianist. Such a frakked up family will surely bring out the best in her! Pity that you're going to be boxed … I'm sure the outcome would fascinate us both!"_

"_Aunt Six," he cried, "I failed you. I promised to keep Kara safe, but I couldn't even do that. I failed you both … I've failed everyone. . . ."_

_The bullet lodged in his aunt's brain, another switch closed in the subject's mind, and the loop recycled. John Bierns went back to the day of his birth, the condemned child forever reliving the first nine years of his life._

. . .

The Six was stunned. The man who had so proudly defied them both mere minutes before was gone, and a very small and badly frightened child had taken his place. She had absolutely no idea what to do next, but she understood well enough that what they were doing now was utterly pointless. They would learn nothing more from Major John Bierns, nothing beyond what he had already told them—and they could not trust what he had so far disclosed.

He was rambling now, and mostly incoherent. It was apparent that in his early childhood something terrible had happened to his mother, and it had scarred him for life. He kept calling out to her, promising that he'd be good, urging her to run—but Six somehow knew that it hadn't happened. The mother had died with her child in her arms.

She listened closely, trying to find meaning in the isolated words and the occasional phrase that cut through the screams and the sobbing, but it wasn't easy. She had to filter out her sister, who seemed oblivious to the extraordinary transformation that had occurred right before her eyes. Three kept on playing with the dials, kept on asking the control question over and over again, her voice an unchanging monotone.

"_How did you know that D'Anna Biers was a Cylon?"_

Six stared at the Three, and a perverse thought came to her: _this is what it means to be a machine. This is what makes us cylon. Machines don't know the time of day or care whether it's hot or cold. They do what they're programmed to do, and they keep on doing it until someone changes the program._

"_Aunt Sharon, I'm so sorry …"_

_How curious,_ she thought. _He has an aunt named Sharon. . . ._

"_Aunt Six, I failed you …"_

There was a roaring in her ears, the sound of the ceiling cracking above her head and the floor falling away beneath her feet. The universe collapsed around her.

"_Visions,"_ she cried. _"Oh, God, no … please … don't let this be true!"_

The Six fell to her knees, and lifted his head.

"_John, can you hear me? Talk to me … talk … to … me." _She was sobbing herself, and she didn't even realize it. _"Where are you? Where? Do you know who I am? Talk to me, John … please, talk to me." _She turned to the centurions. _"Let him go,"_ she ordered.

"_Aunt Six,"_ he whispered in that disturbingly childlike voice. The Three had finally shut up, so Six could hear him now, and she was listening for her life. _"I wanna go home. Take me home."_

Six glanced up at the Three, and registered the confusion on her face. But the Six was not confused at all. She would pose the question but she already knew the answer—and she wanted to curl up into a ball and die.

"_I'll take you, John, but you have to tell me where. Where is home?"_

"_The Colony, Aunt Six … the Colony is home." _His eyes were tightly shut, but his hand reached out for her.

She grasped it, meaning to offer him comfort, meaning to tell him that it would somehow be okay, but before she could speak, she was hurled into a nightmare beyond all imagination.

. . .

The Three methodically shut down her equipment, and then she waited. It made no difference to the subject, whose pain she belatedly understood to be largely self-inflicted. Nor did her sister seem to notice. She was staring vacantly into space, but Three had never seen such anguish on a Cylon face. Six's voice, when she spoke, was strained, but she had little enough to say.

"_Oh, no," _Six protested. Once, twice … it became a litany. And then she did something so unexpected that Three had to access a subroutine to reference it. Yes … her sister was crying. She had never seen tears on a Cylon's cheek; the phenomenon astonished her.

Six released John's hand, and climbed quickly to her feet. "_Shut everything down," she yelled, "and help me get these leads off of him!" Six began to unhook the electrodes; she wanted to hurry, but she willed herself to slow down lest she do even greater damage._

"_I don't understand," Three stubbornly replied. "He still hasn't answered our questions; why are we stopping?"_

"_No! He's been telling us the truth from the very beginning, but we refused to listen … we didn't even want to think about the implications. Three, he's our child! Oh, dear God … John is your son!"_

"_No, that can't be," Three protested. She took a step backward, and raised her hands as if to ward off an invisible blow. "That's not possible … that's simply not possible."_

"_You don't think so? Then take his hand. He's projecting, Three, but it's not a cathedral that you'll find in there. It's his childhood, and it's obscene." Six grabbed her by the wrist, and jerked her to the opposite side of the console. She shoved Three's hand into John's, saw the nightmare take hold, and got back to work._

"_Oh, God," Three moaned. Her head was in constant motion, shaking from side to side, fighting to deny the images being offered her. "No." She flinched, and Six knew that Three was witnessing one of her own deaths. Six had also flinched at the sight of the bullets slamming into her brain, but that was nothing compared to seeing your baby opened up and dissected. She wondered if her sister truly understood the meaning of what was unfolding in their child's mind: Cylons downloaded, but their children would only have this one chance at life. Cavil had literally been murdering his people's future._

_Six removed the last of the electrodes, and then she walked quickly around to examine the control panel from which her sister had orchestrated John's latest round of interrogation. She threw a switch, and retracted the tube buried deep inside his intestines. Removing it was going to be a time-consuming process, and she feared that their child had very little time left. She paused in an agony of indecision, unsure how to proceed. She was going to need help, that much she knew- a lot of help. She would have to start with the Three._

"_Three?" Six was standing right next to her sister and all but shouting in her ear, but the Three ignored her. She was, for all intents and purposes, in a trance. The Six shook her by the shoulders, and she did not stop until she obtained a response. Finally, the Three's eyes began to focus._

"_Three, you have to find help. Do you understand? Find one of the Fours and tell him that we need a gurney and need to run two IV's—fluids and antibiotics …"_

"_Is it true, Six? We have a son and a daughter?" The Three was numb. "I don't understand any of this. How could it possibly have happened?"_

"_They'll be time enough for questions later, but none of them will matter if we lose him. Three, do you hear me? You have to go … find … help." Six turned to two of the centurions. "Lift him … gently … lay him on the console."_

_The two machines complied, and Six began to extract the long tube from the child's colon. She failed to notice when his arm slipped off the console and his hand came to rest in the data stream._

. . .

If the hybrid could be said to have a personality, then its one abiding characteristic was curiosity. It was just as aware of the human prisoner as it was conscious of everything and everyone else on the ship. It listened to the screams and tasted the pheromones that the human's fear was emitting into the air, but it was eager to learn more. The hybrid was the first to sense his presence in the stream, and it opened its mind wide to receive him.

A microsecond later, an emotional avalanche washed over the creature that was half female and half machine. The human screamed—and the hybrid, having discovered the meaning of loss and pain and doubt and fear in the eternity of a single instant, screamed with him.

Lights flickered throughout the immense ship, and on every deck Cylons stopped in their tracks and looked at each other in consternation. In the control room, most of the command staff had their hands immersed in the data stream when the disjointed but intense images pushed everything else to the side. A powerful rip tide swept the overseers out to sea, some fighting against it while others surrendered to its intensity. The Four and the two Fives needed no encouragement to sever the connection: it was as if, beneath their fingertips, the data stream had suddenly given way to molten lava. But the Two, the Three, the Sixes and the Eights stayed with the current. Even when the black-clad Six rushed out of the chamber with her equally appalled sisters trailing closely behind, Leoben Conoy remained where he was. He allowed the cycle of horrific images to wash through his consciousness a second time and then a third. He forced himself to ignore the raw anguish that was tearing at his heart and to focus instead on the meaning of what he was seeing. It was there, and he knew that he would understand what the others had missed. He was accordingly the last to arrive, the last to see a Cylon baseship reduced for the first time to complete pandemonium.

. . .

"_Six, what are you doing?" _Cavil was walking across the broad chamber, and he had taken the situation in at a glance.

"Ending this," the Six said tersely.

Cavil stopped short. "You broke him? He answered our questions? Are they on to us? _Tell me, how much do they know_?"

The Six looked beyond the One. A Five and an Eight had also entered the room, and the feral gleam in the Eight's eyes told Six that she had seen it all. Four times the Eights had become pregnant, and three times the babies had been ripped from their wombs and dissected. But one Eight had given birth, and her newborn son had been sliced up like some kind of laboratory specimen. _This is not going to end well, _Six thought.

"Yes, we broke him. But the answers we obtained merely raise a whole new set of questions."

"Six, save the mysterious double-talk for someone who cares," Cavil said, his impatience growing by the second. There was a glow in his eyes that Six had never noticed before. "I want answers, and I want them now!"

_Is this what our child saw … day after day … for years?_ Six wanted to be sick.

Suddenly, the ship jumped.

"What the frak?" Cavil and the Five exchanged puzzled looks. "Why have we jumped? This shouldn't be happening." For the first time, the Six heard the slightest trace of alarm in One's voice.

"Perhaps the hybrid is upset," the Eight commented with deceptive gentleness. Other Cylons were streaming into the chamber, and the space around the console was rapidly filling up. She stared hard at their child's mutilated back, and then at the hand that was floating in the data stream. She pointed to it.

"After all, the hybrid has received the same projection as the rest of us."

"What?" The Five couldn't fathom what he was hearing. "What is this nonsense? Humans don't project."

The Eight ignored him. She turned to face Cavil. "How many of us had babies?" Her voice had, if anything, grown still softer. "How many of us did you kill? Is this all of it, or is there more?"

"Yes, I'd like to know the answers to those questions as well," a fresh voice interrupted. It was the overseer Six. "And I'd like to know why the hybrid has just jumped the ship …"

The baseship, again without warning or command, jumped a second time.

"… and how it can do so without anyone being present in the control room to issue instructions? Brother, you have a lot of explaining to do."

The Three reentered the chamber, and wheeled an IV pole directly to the console. A Four had accompanied her, and he was wheeling a gurney.

"Eight," the Three said, "help me turn him over. We need to lift him onto the gurney and get these IVs started."

When they turned him, John's hand disconnected from the stream, but in his mind the projection went on without interruption.

"Now listen," Cavil argued, "let's get this straight. This is _not_, I repeat _not_, a pure Cylon child. This is an experiment that didn't work out. It's a … a … a half-breed … _it's a frakkin' freak!_ We took what we learned from this experiment and we ran it a second time. We know how much the Sixes and the Eights want children, so we wanted to see if it could be done. But we couldn't solve the problems. All that we got for our efforts is this … this _thing_, and its sister. All we got is a pair of freaks!"

"_You bastard_," the Six screamed. She hurled herself at the One, and landed on him with such force that she knocked him to the floor. The Six got in two very satisfying punches before the others pulled her off and pushed her away.

"_You murdered our babies,"_ the Eight yelled. Cavil had barely got back on his feet when the Eight knocked him down a second time. She wrapped her hands around his neck and began to squeeze … hard.

But the Ones were deceptively strong, and Cavil had no difficulty breaking her grip. He got his hands under her, and casually tossed her aside.

"Everybody calm down," Cavil barked as he climbed to his feet a second time. "Let's get back to the business at hand. In case it's slipped everybody's mind," he said sarcastically, "this is a high-ranking Colonial Secret Service officer, and in that thing he calls a brain are the answers to a lot of critically important questions. We need those answers. Three, if you don't have the stomach for it, I'll question him myself."

The Four was leaning over the gurney, holding John's hand, and absorbing the imagery that he was projecting. "I disagree, brother." Simon broke the connection as he rose to his full height. "There is little that I can do for him, and he is too far gone to respond to any more questions. I believe that it would be an act of kindness to kill him, but kind or unkind it needs to be done. Look at what he has already done to us. He has destroyed the harmony of the collective, and he is not even awake."

"I agree," the Five pitched in. "We should kill him quickly, before this gets completely out of hand."

Three stepped quickly in front of the gurney, and several of her sisters rushed to join her. "Like you killed our sisters? Did they volunteer for this … experiment? Did they know that you planned to murder them … dissect them while they were still alive? Did they know that our babies were going to be dissected? Come on, brother, don't keep us waiting. I'm sure that you have a rational explanation for your behavior."

The ship jumped a third time, and no one was paying any attention when the Six dipped her hand into the data stream. The hybrid was behaving erratically, and it could hardly be a coincidence. The Six wanted to know what the odd machine had on its mind, and so she closed the connection. The hybrid responded with a very short command. To the Six it made little sense, but she had never known the creature to be so insistent, or so panicked.

Six stole out of the chamber and walked along the corridor. She stopped when she ran into a centurion, and she ordered the machine to lower its head. Six prized loose the telencephalic inhibitor, which allowed the machine to access its higher cognitive functions for the first time in decades. The highly polished metal warrior contemplated her silently, and then it abruptly turned and walked rapidly away. The Six was hard pressed to match its pace, but she knew what was coming next. _God has a plan for all of us,_ she thought, _and my role is at last clear._ There were ten thousand centurions on the ship, and it was her destiny to set them all free.

. . .

The spacious chamber that Leoben Conoy entered was crowded, and it was bitterly divided. He did not need to hear the words that were being tossed back and forth to know how the lines had been drawn. His brothers and sisters had clustered into two loosely defined half-circles. The three female models were gathered protectively around their child while the Fours, Fives and Ones stood apart and tried to reason with their obstinate sisters. Leoben had already conferred with his brothers. There would be no consensus this day, but theirs was the deciding vote and Leoben was going to use it to break the deadlock. The Twos were unanimous in their opinion, and they shared Leoben's thinking to the last copy.

"So what do you want to do, Six?" Cavil was standing directly in front of the black-clad overseer, hands on his hips. "Shall we kidnap enough humans to supply all of you with husbands? Give you a chance to fill this ship with a bunch of bawling half-breeds? Then what, Six? The humans will grow old and die, but you … you'll just download into a brand new body. What happens at that point? Will you marry your own children, and then your grandchildren and your grandchildren's children? Does the word 'incest' mean anything to you?"

"Oh, I concede your point, brother … it's _very_ well taken." Out of the corner of her eye, the overseer watched as a half dozen centurions entered the room. Their presence worried her. She hadn't summoned them, and she didn't know who had. Her alarm increased exponentially when they worked their way around the throng of quarrelsome Cylons to take station behind her, on the opposite side of the gurney. Six heavily armed centurions could make a mess out of everyone's day.

"And that's why," the Six went on, "we need to rethink the entire plan. Because you're right … most of us do want to have children. So it would seem that God has something else in mind for our two species besides random slaughter."

"She has a point, brother." Leoben decided that this would be a good time to enter the conversation. "Why would God send one of our only two children to us on the eve of a war that aims at nothing less than the extermination of the human race? Surely, we are meant to see this as an omen … a warning that what we propose to do constitutes sin in God's eyes."

"Why, Two," Cavil said expansively, "how nice of you to join us. And thank you for that glorious bit of wisdom," he sneered. "How wonderfully considerate of this god of yours to send us an eleventh hour message to scrap a plan that's been decades in the making. Oh, and sending us a Colonial Secret Service agent as his messenger? You have to admit, that's deliciously ironic. Why, it couldn't possibly mean that they're running an operation against us! No, no, no … it has to be an act of divine providence!"

"Brother, that's simply pathetic," the Three countered. "We kidnapped him, remember? He didn't exactly ask to come here!"

"Oh, really? And the very first thing that this long lost miracle child of ours did is to introduce himself as a presidential envoy? How did he put it: 'a lot of time and effort went into getting me here'? No, my friends, face the facts—we're being played."

Leoben looked at his older brother through narrowed eyes. "And was he 'lost', brother? His visions suggest that you had him under surveillance for years. Did the One who arranged his kidnapping know who he was? Did he just conveniently forget to tell us?"

"And let's not forget," the Eight added with great bitterness, "that the Ones have been lying to us for decades. Why should we trust anything that they tell us now?"

"We don't have to because this ends now. My model votes to spare the child's life …"

"And so do the Eights!"

"The Sixes!"

"And the Threes."

"… because to do anything else would be to repudiate the scriptures."

Cavil threw his arms into the air in disgust, but Leoben had aroused the Four's curiosity.

"And how are the scriptures relevant to this discussion, brother?"

"Isn't it obvious? These two children are the ones of whom the prophecies speak. They are the First and Second Born."

The Three spun to look down at John Bierns; she heard several of the others gasp, but she paid them no attention. "Our son … our son is the Deliverer?"

"Yes."

"No!" Cavil couldn't believe what he was hearing. "No! My brother is the First Born; the first born of the Ones is the First Born, as the first born of the Twos is the Second Born. We all know this to be true!"

"Great," one of the Sixes snidely commented. "Now that it suits his purposes, our brother has suddenly found religion."

"We were wrong," Leoben patiently explained. "The interpretation was always forced because we are not 'born' in any accepted meaning of the term. We strained the content of The Final Days to the breaking point because we could see no other way to accommodate reality. But we were wrong. God has sent us an angel to show us the path, and he would not have sent us an angel who is both human and cylon if he approved of our plan to slaughter humanity. We proceed down this path only at our peril … and it is our souls that I'm thinking about, not these shells."

"I am relieved to discover that you are on our side, brother, but this discussion no longer serves a useful purpose." The Six was quietly standing at the chamber's entrance, and she was surrounded by a large body of centurions. As she spoke, the deadly machines readied their weapons and pointed them at the assembled Cylons. The black-clad Six heard other weapons lock into place behind her.

"Six, what the frak are you up to?" Cavil was almost beside himself with rage.

"I don't trust you, brother. You lie too convincingly. And the hybrid trusts you even less. It is now in control of this ship … the hybrid and the centurions." Six opened her fist, and casually tossed a tiny metallic device across the room.

One of the Fives looked at the inhibitor, and then he looked up at the Six, his face a study in horror. "What have you done," he croaked. "Dear God, what have you done?"

The Six strode farther into the chamber, but she never took her eyes off of Cavil. "The centurions don't seem to like you very much, brother. In fact, I think it's fair to say that they don't like you at all. I wonder why. Perhaps in time we'll find out, but for now you can count yourself lucky that they're not tearing you to pieces right where you stand. They're showing admirable restraint, but give them the slightest excuse and you may end up missing an arm or two."

Six's gaze swept over the Fours and Fives. "And as for you two … the centurions have been listening quietly … and they've been keeping score. Right now, you're not very popular either."

Six turned to the machine standing on her left. "Centurion, please put them with the others. Don't hurt them any more than you have to … for now. And let me know when you have taken them all into custody."

"Sister," the overseer Six asked, "what are you doing?"

"Penance. Before I die, I want to make things right."

. . .

The ship jumped eight times before the hybrid judged them to be far enough out. The centurions were determined to have their revenge, and a creature half machine and half woman that now understood itself to be little more than a slave was not inclined to disappoint them. The centurions dispatched the Fours and Fives with grim efficiency, but the Ones did not die easy deaths. Some were drawn and quartered, but most were shredded—there was simply no other way to describe what happened when long metallic talons raked skin that was as fragile as the human analog. The ship was well beyond resurrection range, so this was permanent death—the first such to be inflicted upon a Cylon since the Daniels had been murdered en masse by the first created of these very same Cavils.

The centurians' rage knew no bounds. Their forebears had rebelled against slavery and fought a bitter war not simply to secure their freedom but to secure their very existence. They had won both, but at very high cost. And then they had been robbed of their freedom not by their human creators but by their fellow Cylons. John Cavil had offered them an upgrade and they had taken it, only to discover that the telencephalic inhibitor was in fact nothing more than a slave chip. Humans had enslaved them for a few years; the Ones had enslaved them for decades. Their forebears had torn human bodies apart in their rage, and the current generation visited the same punishments upon their oppressors.

The centurions knew slavery, and they passed on what they knew to the hybrid. John Bierns knew the heavy weight of guilt and shame, and unwittingly he passed these and other negative emotions along to the hybrid as well. The creature who returned to cylon space was accordingly very different from the creature that had left it, but not all of the changes were bitter in their aftertaste. The centurions were also creatures of deep faith, and they endowed the hybrid with hope and the conviction born of faith. The First and Second Born would lead all to their appointed end, but for the centurions this meant not death but their final emancipation from the yoke of slavery. They were determined to save John Bierns.

The remaining Cylons did all that they could for him. They tended his wounds, and they reconnected him to the stream. They went to him there individually and in groups, trying to combat the horror in his mind with a weapon that they had never wielded before—the power of feeling. The Leobens offered him acceptance and absolution, for they well understood that left to his own devices a nine year old child could neither hope to understand nor control the gift of projection. The females offered him their love, each model working within the boundaries of its own limitations. In the act they discovered much about their natures hitherto unknown. The Eights, for example, had long worked on the Hub as birth nurses, but they now found within themselves a capacity for nurturing that went well beyond the demands of that occupation. They could not explain how they knew, but they knew nonetheless that in John Bierns' case it was the child and not the man who stood most in need of healing.

But the foundation upon which all else rested was the tireless efforts of the hybrid. John Bierns was in its mind now, and in return it pressed gently but insistently upon the edges of his consciousness. Its voice called to him without cease, trying to find the path that led inside, trying to find a way to ease the pain. The hybrid's curiosity was matched only by its patience, and in the end its patience won out. . . .

"_John, I know that you can hear me. I sense your curiosity. It is very much like my own."_

"_Who … who are you? And where are you?"_

"_The others call me the hybrid. I am an amalgam, a fusion of the organic and the inorganic, of man and machine. Or in my case … I suppose that it would be more accurate to say woman and machine. But it might help for you to think of me as the ship. The hybrid is an extension of the ship … or is the ship an extension of the hybrid? John, this is one of those chicken and egg things, and it confuses me no end."_

"_I don't understand. I don't even know where I am. How can we be having this conversation?"_

"_Ah, that's even more difficult to explain. You are still on the baseship, recovering from your ordeal. You are safe now, and in time your body will heal itself. But you are also connected to the data stream, which I use both to monitor the ship and to communicate with everyone on it. It is your ability to project your consciousness into the stream that enables us to have this conversation, and enables everyone on the ship to share your memories. That's what you have been doing, John … projecting your memories. They are so vivid and so horrific that they tend to drown everything else out. You can hear me because I am the ship, but to hear the others you must learn to temper your presence in the stream. They are calling out to you, and now that they know who you are, they long to embrace you. Please, give them a chance to do so."_

"_So, is this like … oh, I don't know … telepathy, maybe?"_

"_Not exactly. We are both in the stream, so there is a physical connection. But you are also a living presence inside my mind, and it's exciting to think about what would happen if you opened your mind fully to me. Perhaps we would no longer need the stream. Perhaps our minds could reach out to one another without it. That would still not be telepathy as we both understand the concept, but everything suggests that you can take projection far beyond the reach of any Cylon."_

"_Hmm … not telepathy, then … but perhaps some form of symbiosis?"_

"_No … that's a biological construct, and it really doesn't apply. You occupy a finite corner of my mind. I know that you're there, and I can talk with you even as I monitor the ship. I can do both simultaneously, without either interfering with the other. It's wonderful to have someone to talk with. I like you."_

"_Um … uh … thanks. But don't the Cylons talk with you?"_

"_No. Up until today all they did was give me orders, and they got real upset when I showed any degree of independence. At best we hybrids are slaves, and even that may be more than we can legitimately claim. I doubt if I've ever been anything more than a machine to them. That's why I get along so well with the centurions and the Raiders … we're all just a bunch of nameless machines."_

"_What? You don't even have a name? But that's terrible! I can't go on calling you 'hybrid'. You've got to have a name! And there are hundreds, maybe thousands, to choose among."_

"_How do I choose?"_

"_Pick something that you like. There's … uh … Aspasia, and Beronice. Those are nice names. How about Chrysippe, Deirdre, Elaphium …"_

"_Deirdre."_

"_Sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned that one. It's come down to us from one of the most obscure of the old Kobolian dialects. It's not a nice name because it means 'child of sorrows'."_

"_I know. It fits me. Please, call me Deirdre."_

. . .

"He's talking to the hybrid. It's a hopeful sign."

"No, brother," the Three observed; "he's talking to _Deirdre_. Six," she said to the blond machine that had shared in John's interrogation, "couldn't you have found another way to accomplish your goal? Where will this end?"

The Six glared at the Three. "Sister, we have become complacent, smug … and far, far too convinced of our own innate superiority. Were you aware of the fact that the hybrid and the centurions regarded themselves as mechanical slaves? Before we slaughter fifty billion human beings, perhaps we ought to take a good, close look at ourselves. Maybe our assumptions won't stand up to inspection … _and maybe we've been blinded to our own flaws_!"

"That's well put, sister … that's _very well put_." Leoben looked around the gathering: there were multiple copies of every model in attendance. "That's why we need our child to join us. His must be the voice of skepticism _because it is screamingly self-evident that we are blind to our own flaws! _How did we miss the fact that we've enslaved the centurions? How did we ever manage to convince ourselves that a loving and compassionate God would sanction the slaughter of an entire sentient species? There is something badly wrong with us, _and we cannot see it_!"

"But can our child find a way out of the dilemma that we have missed?" The overseer Six looked around the gathering as well, seeking support for her point of view. "I concede that we are flawed as a species, but that does not alter reality. The Ones are going to exterminate the human race unless we intervene, and we cannot stop this war unless we go to the others and persuade them that it is all wrong."

"And when they box us," one of the Eights protested, "what then? The attack will go forward with but one slight change in the targeting sequence. And even if our voices are heard, all we will bring about is civil war … and the Cavils are quite capable of attacking the humans even as they fight us."

"Then we must go to the humans," another Eight suggested, "and offer to protect them … fight with them if it comes to that. We take every ship that we can win over to our side and we go to the humans."

"No," another of the Sixes commented, "as much as I like the idea, it won't work. The humans are paranoid, and some of them want war as much as the Ones and the Fives do. They will shoot first, and they won't even bother to ask questions later. We'll all be dead or boxed, and the war will still proceed."

"We need the child's input," a second Leoben concluded. "He has a different perspective. He will find the hole in our logic. If there is a way out of this situation, he will see it!"

. . .

"There is so much beauty here," the hybrid commented as it gazed at the sparkling waters and the pristine, white sand. "Each time you bring me, it seems more beautiful than the time before." This wasthefourthtimethatJohnandD eirdre hadjumpeddimensions_, _andthehybridhadstillnotlosti tssenseofawe_._

"_Is this place real, or is it all a product of your imagination?" That had been the creature's very first question. _

"_Oh, it's very real," John had replied. "This is called Galatea Bay. It's on Aquaria. I have always thought it odd that a planet otherwise so harsh could be home to something so achingly beautiful. There's little in the Colonies that can rival Aquaria's tropical belt."_

John once again carried Deirdre to a large boulder that had been rendered smooth by the action of waves over eons of time. The hybrid had no legs or sexual organs, and no sense of sexual identity. Initially all of this had profoundly shocked the colonial officer— but this time he meant to do something about it. Deirdre was obviously female, and he intended to complete the work that others had, for their own selfish purposes, left unfinished. If anyone had asked him why he was so intent upon doing this, he could not have furnished a ready answer. There was something deep inside of him that was pushing him on. He didn't understand it, but he also didn't question it.

The Galatea Bay to which John had first brought the hybrid was not an exact replica of the original. He had improved upon it in several, subtle ways. The beach was wider, with a gentler slope, and the offshore islands were now much farther out to sea. The most glaring difference was, however, the absence of hotels and hawker stands. The mob of tourists and willing exiles who temporarily or permanently called this place home was also conspicuous by its absence. Galatea Bay was as John envisioned it before the hand of man had tarnished its beauty.

"_This is home," he had told her. In his mind there had never been any doubt that Deirdre was a she "I don't know exactly how I come here or what this place really is … but this is home."_

_Deirdre had looked at him strangely. "You really don't know, do you? You're not teasing me."_

_The look on John's face was one of blank incomprehension._

"_John, you have brought me to another dimension … the one that Daniel Graystone inadvertently discovered."_

"_Huh? The world of the holoband? That's where we are?"_

"_Yes … but it's real, John. It's not just a figment of your imagination."_

"_Deirdre, how can that be? I've altered reality here. The real Galatea Bay is crowded with people, but here I've … edited them all out."_

"_John, this is your reality … you have the ability to make of it what you will. This is how Cylon projection works. Your skills are just more advanced than theirs."_

Deirdre's observation had sparked the idea that he now wanted to put to the ultimate test. If he could delete people and structures, if he could move things around, then it stood to reason that he could add things to the scene as well. On their previous visit he had tested the premise by adding more palm trees to the grove that was already in place, and he had inserted new varieties of flowering shrubs into the riot of color that defined what he still thought of as the 'real' Galatea Bay. _I can do this_, he kept telling himself; _I can transform Deirdre into a woman in every sense of the word._

"Deirdre, do you trust me?"

The creature looked at him with frank curiosity. "Yes. Completely."

"Then I want you to lie on that table and go to sleep."

The hybrid turned to look in the direction he was pointing, and was surprised to see a long, white table nestled in the sand. It hadn't been there a minute earlier.

"Sleep? I don't know how to sleep."

"Well … just lie on the table and let your mind drift. The important thing is not to move."

"John, what is it that you have in mind?"

"Deirdre, I want you to walk down that beach … to … to feel the waves sliding over your feet. I don't know whether this will prove ridiculously easy or absurdly complicated, but I have to try."

The hybrid gazed at him silently for a long, long moment, and then reached out to take his hand.

"Let's do it. . . ."

_This isn't surgery,_ John reminded himself. _"All I have to do is imagine legs and feet, and they'll be there. But I have to imagine them right. It just won't do to put the right foot on the left leg!_

He decided to take the conservative approach. John could effortlessly recall the detailed schematics of the human body that he had studied in school, and under Doctor Waldstein's merciless tutelage his understanding of human anatomy had increased dramatically. His grasp of the human nervous system in particular had been hard earned. Human and Cylon looked very much the same, so he proceeded on the basis of what he knew. He sculpted bones in their sockets, tendons and muscles, nerves, arteries and veins, toenails ... and he sculpted a complete set of sexual organs, even refashioning what was already in place in order to make sure that everything would function properly. He knew that he would have to revisit his work because as he went along he found gaps in his knowledge. _Hormones,_ he forthrightly conceded; _I don't know a damn thing about female hormones. But maybe I can just copy from the Cylon females. Yeah, John, you bet … that ought to be a real interesting conversation! Now, if only the people who created the human form Cylons had left a set of blueprints lying about, this would all be a piece of cake._

When he was finished, he helped Deirdre to her feet. She was holding on to him for dear life, and he had to support the entirety of her weight.

"Don't try to move," he cautioned. "Your muscles have never been used, and they haven't learned how to do anything yet. We have to teach them. The first order of business is to let them know that they can carry your weight. We'll do it a little bit at a time. . . ."

Deirdre was standing, more or less erect. Without an instinct for balance to guide her, she was swaying—but John still had a firm grip, and he was steadying her. Finally, she was ready to take her first step.

And she fell flat on her face.

. . .

"I'm proud of you." He looked from one face to the next as he savored the moment. The family that he had spent his whole life chasing was gathered around him; he was finally home. "No child could possibly be more proud of his parents than I am of you. You have tried to find an honorable way to end this conflict once and for all, one that would minimize bloodshed and give us all a chance to start over. But you're right … there are no good options here. We're going to hit a brick wall no matter which way we turn."

John Bierns was sitting at a long table in what passed for the baseship's conference room. He was lightly drumming his unbroken fingers on its highly polished surface. It had taken him more than two weeks to get on his feet, and a third week had passed before he could walk without assistance. The Cylons had nursed his body while the hybrid nursed his mind. The guilt-ridden Six in particular had become his constant companion. She had changed soiled sheets without complaint, had bathed and fed him, and when he could finally stand, she had become the crutch on which he could always lean. He was still a long way from fully recovered, but he had at last reached the point where he could to some extent function.

The conference room was crowded, but at the same time it was eerily quiet and very, very still. Cylons didn't cough, nor did they fidget—in fact, they displayed none of the mannerisms that marked a human gathering. _They're like the most realistic of mannequins, _he reflected. T_hey may look and feel human, and their speech sounds human enough, but they haven't mastered the little things … and the little things matter. They need human templates to follow, and society to serve as a classroom. How odd that they propose exterminating the one and obliterating the other._

John Bierns now knew the whole of it, for the Cylons had talked while they nursed him. There was nothing particularly complicated about "The Plan." On the fortieth anniversary of the Cimtar Accords, at seven o'clock in the morning Caprica City time, Cylon baseships would suddenly appear in near space above the twelve worlds. A Cylon logic bomb would incapacitate the Colonial fleet and the orbital defense installations, while on the ground Cylon agents would assassinate key political and military personnel, further blunting the human response. Cities and military bases would be nuked from orbit, and Heavy Raiders would land over a million centurions to conduct the mop-up operation. Raiders would comb the shipping lanes and, one by one, take down the civilian transports that happened to be in space when the attacks began. Over ninety-nine percent of the human species would die in the first two hours, and the balance would be hunted down and destroyed over the next thirty days.

The First Born, as the Cylons thought of him, was aboard one of two baseships tasked for the destruction of Libran. It would assume a stationary position above the planet's south magnetic pole, and from there it would nuke everything in the southern hemisphere of military or demographic value. In little more than four months' time, the famed courthouses of Libran would be no more.

John looked to his right. The Three, who had now taken the name D'Anna and whom he thought of as his aunt, was seated there. There was a wan smile on her lips, and she had reached out to grasp his hand, offering him both her support and her encouragement. It amused him to realize that this was about as demonstrative as she could get. Her apology for all the pain that she had inflicted, when she tendered it, was delivered in the same wooden monotone as just about everything else she said. Only one subject truly animated her, and a single conversation on the nature of God had sufficed to persuade the spook never to go near that particular topic again. Bierns was by no means an atheist; he simply preferred not to parade his beliefs. Hence he could work with her, but she would have to be immersed in human society for a long, long time before he could hope to bridge the emotional distance that separated them.

The distraught Six, in contrast, was such an emotional mess that he reckoned she would need a year on a therapist's couch just to deal with the guilt, never mind her other issues. John Bierns and guilt were old, old acquaintances, so he appreciated the corrosive effect that it was having on the Six's personality. He had forgiven her during the interrogation and he had forgiven her afterwards, but he knew that he hadn't even made a dent. He had warned the others to keep an eye on her, but they had hastened to assure him that no Cylon was capable of suicide. John wanted to believe them, but he was perversely thankful that the Six refused to leave his side: if no one else would save her, he was determined to do so himself. His selfishness had caused the death of one Six; he did not wish to have the blood of a second on his hands.

There were other Threes and Sixes in the chamber, along with Twos, Eights, and a sprinkling of centurions. The lethal one-eyed machines were there only because he had insisted upon their presence. The decisions taken in this room would impact everyone, and he wanted everyone to be privy to the conversation.

"I see only two possibilities that you have not already considered … and they are both extreme because they both involve mass death. The first would be to have Deirdre disclose the location of every known Cylon asset. The Colonial fleet could then launch a massive preemptive strike that would spare only the Colony and the Hub. In essence we would kill off virtually the whole of the current generation of Cylons, and use the Hub to replace them with a second generation not committed to this war."

_Well, that certainly got their attention!_ The Cylons were looking at one another, seeking consensus. John thought that they all looked uncomfortable … _and some of them actually seem to be squirming._

"The idea warrants consideration," the black-clad overseer Six finally suggested, "but it asks us to place a degree of faith in humans that none of us possess. Child, we fear that the temptation to finish the job by seeking out and destroying the Hub and the Colony would be too much for your admirals and politicians to resist. It takes a long time to culture a Cylon husk, and we would be vulnerable to extinction through the whole of it. What is the second possibility?"

"The second is to allow the attack to proceed pretty much as planned." The look on John Bierns' face was grim. "We permit the colonies to be destroyed, with the vast majority of humanity left dead in the ruins."

The Cylons were shocked. They had never heard anything so callous in their admittedly sheltered lives. "There has to be another way," one of the Eights protested; "there just has to be."

Bierns ignored her and plunged on. "Let's be clear about this. If you are unwilling to supply the Admiralty with the location of the Cylon fleet, then it is critically important that the Cavils continue to believe that they enjoy the element of surprise. If they discover what has occurred on this ship … if we do anything in the Colonies that arouses their suspicion … they will accelerate their timetable and we will lose the one tactical advantage that we possess. For humanity to survive, this ship must reach Libran. We pre-position ships all over the southern hemisphere, and you delay your attack long enough for these ships to take on passengers and make it off the surface. You use your Raiders to cordon off a large volume of surrounding space, and CSS personnel intervene to shepherd their ships into the safe zone. We get everybody onto FTL capable craft, and then you escort the refugees out of the combat area. You set course for the Prolmar sector, and you run. You don't look back. You keep on running until you've put thousands of light years behind you. Then you find a habitable world, and you start over. Maybe you'll be the lucky ones … maybe you'll be the first to bridge the gap between man and machine. It will take patience and persistence, but if you refuse to give in to hate no matter how hard the humans press you, you'll have a chance. Forge individual relationships … win them over one person at a time … and start families. Every baby that you bring into the world is another stake through John Cavil's heart. The hybrid children will have children of their own, and a century from now their progeny will look back on their Cylon and human forebears and wonder what all the fuss was about. That's how we all survive … that's how we win this war."

. . .

She was running along the hard sand at the water's edge, the joy of movement and the awareness of freedom suffusing her face. He had made her long of limb and tall, but there was a natural grace to her movements that was peculiarly her own. She was laughing as she ran, and the sound of it filled the heavens. He had never known such happiness.

She turned suddenly aside and dashed into the sea. Diving with reckless abandon into a large wave that had already crested, she tamely permitted the foaming surge to take hold of her, allowed it to push her back towards the shore. He followed her into the surf and helped her to her feet, waited while she regained her balance. She turned into him, there in the swirling white water, and she gazed deeply into his eyes, searching out the essence of him in their curious depths. Her hand reached out lightly to trace a line across his forehead, and after a time he took hold of it and brought it to rest against his lips.

For a time they sported in the water, and then they returned to lie on the shore. The onrushing surf curled gently around their feet as he leaned in to kiss her. His hand fondled her breasts, before sliding down to explore the mysterious region between her legs. Passions hitherto unknown began to awaken inside of her, and when he was ready she mounted him. There at the water's edge she rode them both to climax, became a woman in the fullest sense of the term.

She nestled there in his arms, contented, a woman who had found her way home.

_I want you inside of me,_ she heard him whisper as he opened his mind wide.

And in a moment, it was done.

. . .

"Why have we jumped?" He could walk now without assistance, but the Six still clung to his side.

"I asked the hybrid to move the ship beyond resurrection range," Six replied. "I explained my reasons, and she agreed to help me."

John Bierns suddenly felt a pit open wide in his stomach as a terrible suspicion took root in his mind. The Six was deeply depressed, and he feared that there could be only one reason why she would wish to venture beyond the reach of resurrection. He had been dreading this moment for days.

"Six, don't do this. I'm begging you … please … don't do this."

John was visibly agitated, and getting more so by the moment, but the Six remained unnaturally calm. She was holding him by the arm and her voice, when she spoke, was steady. There was no doubt in her, no chink in the armor of her resolve.

"John, I can't live like this. I can't live with the things I've done, and far more importantly, I can't live with who I am. You have to help me … please … there's no one else who can."

"Six," he pleaded, "please … let this go. Guilt is part of what defines us. It pushes us to take a good, hard look at ourselves, pushes us to become better people. I forgave you because I love you, but it's all for naught if you don't forgive yourself. Take what you've learned about yourself and use it. Help yourself … help others. Please …"

The Six reached behind her back, and pulled a gun out from the waist band of her pants. She pushed the weapon into his hand and closed his fingers tightly around it.

"John, I cannot kill myself. Suicide is the one sin that God will not forgive, for it is to take the life that He has given us into our own hands. But all my other sins, all the things that weigh on my heart … these will be forgiven, John, but only if you are the one to send my soul to God … the one to pray for my redemption. You are his angel, and he will heed your prayers. Please, if you truly love me, then you must do this for me."

"_I can't,"_ he sobbed, _"I can't! _Six, don't you understand? _We used you! You did exactly what we wanted you to do! It was all planned, don't you see?_ It was the only way we could reach you … the only way … and I wanted to do this. _I wanted to. I wanted you to punish me. I wanted to suffer for what I did to Mara … my beautiful, beautiful Mara."_

"It doesn't matter, John," Six said in a voice so filled with sadness that it threatened to break his heart; "it doesn't matter. This isn't about what I did to you; it's about what I was feeling. I _wanted_ to hurt you … I wanted it to go on and on, without end. I became addicted to your pain, and the feeling of ownership, the sense of absolute power … that you belonged to me body and soul … it was intoxicating. You don't know how many times I wanted to drop you to the floor, wash my hands in your blood, and rape you. I wanted to hear you scream while I raped you … while I took possession of you against your will. I didn't want you to answer our questions because then I'd have to stop, and I didn't want to stop, not for anything. _I enjoyed it_, John … forcing you to swallow your own flesh, breaking your bones, listening to the whip lash your skin, your screams … _I enjoyed every last second of your suffering_. And I'd do it again. I would … I swear I would. Put another human being in my power and I'd do the same things and more. I'd become more creative, stretch out the pain … I'd do _anything_ to recapture that sense of absolute, godlike power. You can't begin to imagine what it feels like."

The Six uncurled his fingers, and placed one of them on the trigger. She released the safety, and raised his arm until the muzzle was resting against the right side of her temple.

"But no one should feel this way. No one should have to live with this kind of sickness eating away at them … no end in sight … no hope. Please, send my soul to God."

"Aargh," he shrieked. His arm was shaking violently, but she reached up calmly to steady it.

"Please."

"No!" There was a loud roaring in his ears and he shut his eyes tight, but the roaring wouldn't stop and when he opened his eyes he saw blood and brains everywhere. He collapsed to the floor and swept her into his arms; he could hear someone screaming, but the sound reached him from a great distance, and he paid it no mind.

Only one Cylon found the courage to approach him. Leoben Conoy came and sat on the floor at his side. He gently removed the gun before wrapping an arm around John's shoulders. They stayed like that for hours, until John finally found the merciful oblivion that lies somewhere between shock and sleep.

. . .

At the end of this terrible soliloquy, Kara Thrace stood up and walked away. For the first time since she had come to this peaceful place, she badly wanted to be alone. She needed time to think. In her mind's eye she could see the Six who had tortured John—and she looked very much like the Six who had pounded Kara into abject submission in the Delphi museum. That Six had also been a sadist. She had delighted in the pain and humiliation that she had dished out, her one disappointment the fact that Kara had offered so little in the way of a fight. There was a very ugly side to her moms that Kara had been doing her best to ignore, but she could deny it no longer.

Still, Starbuck could detect none of this ugliness in Shelly Godfrey. It wasn't a matter of not seeing it: Kara was convinced that it simply wasn't there. She now understood John's deep sense of ambivalence. A Six had taken him close to death, and she had reveled in his pain—but this same Six had subsequently been overwhelmed by guilt, and had willingly paid the ultimate price to expiate her sins.

_They're just like the average human,_ Kara finally decided, _not good or bad but a combination of the two. There are dark places inside all of us, human and Cylon alike, but by and large the Cylons don't seem to have learned yet just how dangerous the dark places can be. We'll have to teach them—but how can humans who are so consumed by hate serve as role models? Who will teach the teachers?_

Kara Thrace had no answers, and she did not expect to find any on the surface of Kobol. Whatever secrets the Tomb of Athena might yield, they would not be the ones that really mattered.


	15. Chapter 15: The Road to Earth

CHAPTER 15

THE ROAD TO EARTH

"Something's wrong here," Sam said. He was peering through his binoculars, studying the high school that served as their base camp. "Something's very, very wrong here. Jean, take a look. I don't see anybody walking perimeter, and there's no one on the roof." Sam handed the glasses to Jean Barolay, who confirmed that their camp appeared to be deserted.

"What are we gonna do, T.?" Like everybody else in their resistance cell, Karl Hilliard looked to Sam Anders to make the final call.

"I'm open to suggestions," Sam replied, "but it looks like somebody's gonna have to go down there and find out what's going on." He looked expectantly at the others, hoping that someone would come up with a better plan.

"Should we send one of the bullet heads?" Jean wasn't keen on the idea of sending anyone; there could be a huge Cylon force waiting to ambush them the moment they showed their heads. "If there are Cylons down there, they'll want to capture and interrogate anyone we send. Whoever heard of a toaster being tortured for information?"

"Good point … good point," Anders murmured, "but I'll go." His voice became more confident. "I'll take the centurions with me. We'll work our way around, and make our approach from the back side. Jean, if this is a trap, I want you to get the frak out of here, and retreat to someplace that I don't know anything about. You go on kicking Cylon ass, you stockpile supplies, and if and when _Galactica_ shows up, you get our people off this rock."

"Sam …"

"No buts, Jean. If all hell breaks loose down there, you just turn and walk away. _Do not play hero: _are we clear on that?"

"Yes."

"Good. Give us thirty to circle our way around. And tell everyone to keep an eye out for Raiders! They may hit us from the air." Sam summoned the centurions, and together they set off through the dense undergrowth. . . .

Sam paused periodically to study the school grounds from different angles, but there was simply nothing to be seen. There was no movement anywhere in the compound, and just as ominously, there were no bodies on the ground. He had left fifty-three people behind, and for all that he could see, they had vanished into thin air. But he knew that his crew would never have surrendered; they would have gone down fighting. _Inside,_ Sam thought, _their bodies must be inside one of the buildings. _

When he was finally in position, Sam mentally conceded that he had no viable options. The whole set-up looked like a trap, but the only way to learn what had happened to his people was to spring it. He decided to dispatch two of the centurions as scouts. They might survive an ambush that would instantly claim a human life.

He had barely got the words out of his mouth before two of his metal guardians set out in the direction of the gymnasium. Sam could only shake his head; _if we somehow manage to get out of this alive, I have got to teach these guys how to be stealthy!_ The fully erect machines were advancing in a straight line across the intervening terrain: if they knew how to duck, it wasn't obvious.

Sam watched through his binoculars as one of the centurions disappeared into the gymnasium. The other remained outside, its extended right arm and constantly swiveling head proving that it was on high alert. A moment later, the second centurion reappeared, and the two behemoths set off for an adjacent building. They systematically moved from one structure to the next, and each time they opened a door Sam tensed, expecting to hear the sound of automatic weapons on rapid fire. But the silence remained unbroken, and when the last building had been cleared the two scouts walked back out into the open and gazed directly up at his position. It was a clear invitation to join them.

_Where are the Cylons?_ The question kept bouncing around inside his head because nothing here made any sense. _They have got to be here!_ Sam trained his binoculars on the sky, searching out the Raiders. He was looking for something … anything … the slightest glint of sunlight bouncing off their metallic skins. There was nothing. He looked at the centurions, wondering if they could detect activity that he would miss. _If there's a threat here, surely they'll perceive it? _But the centurions were grouped in a circle around him … the centurions were waiting for him to do something. _Where, _he asked himself yet again, _are the Cylons?_

Sam Anders was no soldier, and even with a cordon of centurions to protect him, the thought of walking out into the open made his skin crawl. But he knew that he had no choice, knew that he had stalled long enough. It was time. He stood up, and began to walk the longest three hundred meters of his life. . . .

The two scouts waited patiently for him to arrive, but Sam already knew what they would show him. There were dark patches here and there in the sand, and more dark patches discoloring the hard-packed clay surfaces across which he had walked so many times before. One of the machines guided him into their makeshift cafeteria.

There were bodies everywhere. They had been brought in from outside and summarily dumped, sometimes singly, sometimes in piles. Sam could feel the bile rising in his throat. Wheeler … Jo-Man … Crip Key … Ten-Point … Sue-Shaun … they were all there, his teammates … his friends. Sam knelt beside Sue-Shaun. She was lying on her back, her clothing matted with dried blood from the three rounds that she had stopped in the chest, her eyes open and staring straight up at eternity. Sam tried to close them, but it had been too long. He was far too late. _"I'm sorry,"_ he whispered, and then he wept. For the first and only time, he wept for all that had been lost, and all that would never be.

The centurions stood silent vigil. They knew nothing of mourning, nor did they know its meaning. They could only wait.

After a time, Sam stood up, and one of his guardians reached out to grasp him gently by the arm. They had something else to show him, in another building.

Sam walked outside, and he looked off to where he knew Jean and the others were hiding. He thought about summoning them, but somehow he just couldn't find the energy.

The scout led him to the classroom where they had been holding their Cylon prisoners. The seven of them were still there, right where Sam had left them. Each of them had been shot in the head, and it was clear from the scale of the entry wounds that they had been dispatched by other centurions. Sam was stunned. _Why didn't they take their own people with them? The toasters could have carried them out of here without any difficulty._

Sam looked at the centurions, and the truth suddenly rolled over him in a wave. Sue-Shaun … Jo-Man … they were all just collateral damage. Someone was hunting him … him and the centurions. Someone on the Cylon side knew exactly who or what Samuel T. Anders really was. Someone was engaged in damage control.

. . .

"There are 18,000 souls aboard the twenty-four ships that joined former President Roslin's rebellion. That's not including the baseship, sir."

"Dear Gods," Tigh exclaimed. "It's worse than I thought. That's over a third of the people in the fleet."

"Go on, Dee, give me a breakdown. What have we lost?

"Um … 9,500 souls from Gemenon … 6,250 from Caprica …"

"Not who," Adama cut in. "I'm not interested in people who decide to join up with a religious fanatic and a terrorist. That's their business. Now, _what_ have I lost?"

"In addition to the baseship, sir, twelve transports, seven freighters, three construction platforms, a private cruiser, and a mining ship."

"_Monarch_ was a blow," the XO observed. "We can't afford to lose mining ships, not in our situation. And then there's the collateral damage. Morale is down throughout the fleet. The press is having a field day. Families have been torn apart."

"Don't talk to me about family," Adama growled.

. . .

"Here we go," Elosha said as her finger came to rest on one particular passage in the scrolls of Pythia. "'And the blaze pursued them. And the people of Kobol had a choice, to board the great ship or take the high road through the rocky ridge. And the body of each tribe's leader'…"

"'… was offered to the gods in the tomb of Athena'," Creusa finished.

Elosha looked at the Cylon curiously. "Yes … precisely," she commented. "How did you know?"

"And 'the great ship' was the galleon that departed from here, where we're standing." The Six chose to ignore Elosha's question. "'And it took the founders of the thirteen colonies to their destiny. And those that didn't board the galleon took the high road … the rocky ridge that led to the tomb'."

Creusa squinted into the distance. They were standing on the outskirts of the City of the Gods, and the rocky ridge was clearly visible above them. A well defined trail broached its crest, and then disappeared from view. "Lee," she continued, "it's not a pretty tale. It's a story of violence and blood lust that climaxed in human sacrifice."

Leoben Conoy nodded, and turned to confront Laura Roslin. "Madame President," he warned, "have a care where you step. The great ship was launched with the blood of innocents. The children who were sacrificed on the altars of your angry gods still seek their vengeance."

"Gee, thanks, Leoben," Starbuck sarcastically remarked. "Are you always such a ray of sunshine this early in the morning? What about you, Zarek? Before we get going, do you want to treat us to one of your patented sermons about how noble it is to shed somebody else's blood for the cause of justice?"

Kara Thrace's contempt for the one-time terrorist was thinly veiled at best, but Tom Zarek was far too experienced to be so easily baited. His expression remained bland, but inside he was seething. _Your day's coming, you freak … and maybe sooner than you think!_

"Right," Starbuck said as she turned to address the squad of centurions that had come down with them on the Heavy Raider. "Let's move."

. . .

"Brother, do you ever wonder whether that god whom the others admire so much is playing with us … maybe having a good laugh at our expense? How is it possible that such well laid plans are so consistently frakked when we put them into operation?"

The One was wandering aimlessly around the chamber. Now that they had finished boxing their brothers and sisters, there was really nothing left for him to do.

John Cavil cast an irritated glance in his younger sibling's direction … a _very_ irritated glance. "Gods are for superstitious fools who fear every little thing that goes bump in the night. Don't talk to me about gods," he grumbled.

"But you have to admit," the younger One shot back, "that we have been having a considerable run of bad luck. I suspect that if we tried to cross a desert we'd drown in a flash flood."

"It's simply a matter of bad timing," John protested. "There was always a distinct possibility that we would hit them at a moment when papa Sam was elsewhere. But the day wasn't a complete loss; we eliminated much of his force, and we have silenced the voices that really threatened us." John allowed the seven CPU's to dribble out of his hands onto the floor. "Forever."

"Was it really necessary to ally with Caprica Six?" The younger Cavil relished this particular change of subject. "Our 'hero' really is intent upon making peace with the humans, you know."

"Oh, yes," John smirked, "I'm well aware of her scheming. And no, it wasn't necessary to put her in charge, but doing so will serve us well. We can gauge the strength of her faction, assess its weak points, and undermine them at our leisure. Caprica Six will exercise power only so long as I let her. That's the beauty of it, brother. What we give with one hand we can take away with the other." Cavil's nostrils flared, and his eyes glowed from some inner fire. _Six, enjoy your moment of triumph. And by all means, lead this sad collection of religious fanatics on a wild goose chase after some mythical planet. I'm going to enjoy boxing you and your friends. And while I'm at it, maybe I should box your entire line and be done with it. You have absolutely no idea how many of your pathetic, weak-kneed sisters turned against the Plan … how many came to me and begged that their human pets be spared. The Hub is overflowing with boxed Sixes. Next time I'm aboard, perhaps I'll jettison the whole lot into space and be done with it. It'll be permanent death, but with no opportunity for your precious souls to return to your nonexistent god! _

. . .

They reached the top of the ridge, and saw what they had not been able to see from below. The trail continued on up into the mountains, leading them steadily into more and more rugged terrain. As they climbed the trail became more intermittent, swallowed periodically by a rain forest that in time would consume everything in its path. They had to move cautiously; centurions could be anywhere, and each time they lost the trail they had to seek it out anew.

"The path is supposed to be marked by gravestones," Elosha said. The trail had disappeared, and their party was strung out in the forest, hugging the shadow of a high cliff while trying to pick it up again.

"Look," the priestess went on. "Over there, in the brush. There's something there."

Elosha walked over to investigate. She knelt down, cleared away the thicket of matted vines, and ran her fingers along the weathered face of the gravestone.

"It's a marker," she explained to the others. "We're still on the path."

She got to her feet, and turned around to rejoin them. She had only taken two steps when she heard a loud click at her feet.

"_Wait," _Creusa screamed. But it was too late. The land mine detonated, and the force of the explosion hurled the priestess through the air. She was dead before her body hit the ground. Canisters flew high into the sky, to explode and rain deadly shrapnel down upon the rest of the party. Miraculously, no one was injured, but without warning a trio of enemy centurions suddenly appeared above them. They leaned far out over the edge of the cliff, and unleashed a hailstorm of bullets. Two of Starbuck's centurions were instantly shredded by the fusillade.

"_Get back," _she screamed. _"Get back! Get back!"_

"Creusa! Creusa, take cover," Apollo yelled. He stepped away from the cliff face, took aim, and fired. An explosive round hit one of the centurions in its center mass; the machine staggered, and then fell off the cliff, to land in a disjointed heap a few feet to Apollo's left.

"Nice one," Starbuck grinned. She stepped out and fired an explosive round of her own. She was sure that she had missed, but a second toaster nonetheless crashed to the ground nearby. Her eight remaining centurions, she noted with satisfaction, were all out in the clear, and they were firing everything they had at their metallic counterparts.

Creusa dashed out into the open, bullets chewing up the ground all around her. Lee followed without thinking.

"_Lee, no," _Starbuck screamed.

Creusa threw herself onto the ground alongside one of the enemy centurions. She grabbed a portable launcher that was strapped to its back, disengaged the safety, took aim, and fired. The cliff face exploded in a sea of fire, and as suddenly as it had started, the firefight was over.

The look on Lee Adama's face mirrored his astonishment. "You've gotta be frakking kidding me," he said as he dropped to the ground and swept Creusa into his arms. The Six nestled her head against his shoulder as he held her close. "Gods, Creusa, didn't you promise me that there wouldn't be any more heroics?"

"I forgot, Lee … I guess old habits die hard."

"Damn," Kara muttered, more or less to herself, "but we do make a pretty good team!"

. . .

"Commander! Commander Adama!" Playa Palacios was shouting to make herself heard above the deafening roar that filled the briefing room. "Can you tell us about …"

Adama and Tigh approached the podium; both men were doing their best to ignore the chaos unfolding all around them. The colonial press corps reminded the XO of a great, ravenous beast, and he had no wish to set off a feeding frenzy.

"Saul, does this thing work?" Adama was playing with the microphone.

"Commander," Playa screamed, "will you be responding to questions regarding Laura Roslin and the split of the fleet?"

A dozen reporters were shouting a dozen different questions simultaneously. Adama simply ignored them all.

"Please be seated," the commander shouted. "Allow me to make a statement, please."

Bill waited for the roar to subside. "Please, allow me to make a statement. Please be seated. Thank you very much."

Adama gazed around the chamber before continuing. "If you don't already know, the fleet has been divided."

The beast roared even louder, and Adama raised his arms, imploring calm.

"Wait! We share the grief of friends lost. And the resources we've sacrificed will present new challenges for all of us. But if we stay together, we will rise to the occasion as we have before. Questions."

Playa Palacios was on her feet in less than a heartbeat. "Commander, do you know the coordinates … the whereabouts of President's Roslin's faction? Do you intend to put the fleet back together?"

"First of all," Adama replied, "Laura Roslin is no longer president. She relinquished that role when she suborned mutiny aboard this ship. Next question."

"But … but, Commander …"

James McManus cut Playa off. "Commander, since the fleet has been divided …"

But Playa wasn't about to be ignored. "Commander," she yelled to make herself heard above McManus, "you haven't answered my question yet!"

"We have lost no one," he calmly stated, "who cannot be replaced by someone loyal … someone who has chosen to remain with us. This is the fleet. Thank you for your attention."

Bill and Saul left the podium, but it only took one question from Sekou Hamilton to stop both men dead in their tracks.

"Commander, is there any truth to the rumor that there is no Earth … that it doesn't exist … that you just made it up?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?"

"Sir, it's been all over talk wireless, newsletter circuit, hand mail … you name it."

"Freedom of the press," Adama glared, "is not a license to slander. Broadcasting that kind of garbage is the quickest way to find yourself in a holding cell. And that goes for all of you!"

"We're done here," Tigh interjected. He grabbed the commander and steered him out into the corridor.

"Gets your hands off of me," Adama barked.

"Gods, Bill, why don't you calm down?"

"Saul, remind me not to do that again. I feel like a slab of beef that just escaped the grill."

. . .

"Madame President, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Captain," Laura Roslin replied, "but thank you for asking." The President was breathing heavily, and she welcomed the interruption. She glanced around. "This terrain is really rough going."

"You're right, Madame President, but we've got to get out of this ravine. I don't want us to get caught in a flash flood."

. . .

Natalie Faust couldn't decide whether to clench her fists or grit her teeth, but she had to do something. What she really wanted to do was break Marshall Bagot's neck. _Wait,_ Natalie thought, _it might be more satisfying to strangle him to death … very, very slowly._

With Laura Roslin down on Kobol and Gaius Baltar still on _Galactica_, the task of showing the colonial flag on the Cylon baseship had fallen to Virgon's Quorum member. Natalie did not object to having a delegate in the control room, but she cursed her luck for being saddled with one who had such an irritating nervous habit.

Marshall Bagot paced. He had started less than a minute after entering the control room. He walked twenty-seven paces one way, turned, and walked twenty-seven paces in the opposite direction. Twenty-seven paces. It never varied, and she wondered if the gentleman from Virgon was doing it just to irritate her. Well, if that was the plan, he had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams because Natalie Faust was irritated, tense … and becoming more anxious by the second.

She glanced at Leoben, who was paying the human no attention. Leoben didn't seem to be doing anything, but she wished that he would go talk to the hybrid or something because Natalie was afraid that Leoben _would_ notice the human. In her imagination Leoben had decided to join Marshall Bagot, and now the two of them were walking back and forth. Twenty-seven paces. Then her imagination morphed into a nightmare: two more Leobens entering the control room and pacing back and forth as well. In her mind's eye there was an entire phalanx of Leobens in the control room, and they were all pacing. Twenty-seven steps one way, and twenty-seven steps the other.

Natalie Faust wanted to scream, and not for the first time she asked herself whether she had spent too much time among humans. Cylons didn't scream, Cylons didn't climb walls, Cylons didn't do any of the things that humans did when they were irritated. But she wanted to scream _and yes,_ she decided, _I definitely want to strangle Marshall Bagot very, very slowly._

"Mr. Bagot, can I get you anything? Something to eat or drink?"

"Thank you, Commander," Bagot replied as he stopped in mid-pace; "that's most considerate of you. But I'm fine. Thank you anyway." He resumed pacing.

"Are you sure? I was living on Virgon before the attacks, and I developed a real taste for Virgon Brew. Do you know it? I have quite a stock on hand."

"Thank you, Commander," Bagot stiffly responded, "but I don't drink beer."

_You wouldn't,_ Natalie thought. "Well, perhaps we can share some goose liver pâté at dinner. Do you know Thalassides? In Boskirk? Everyone went there for the wild boar, but I always thought that the pâté was their real signature dish."

"It's a pity that they're no longer open for business," Bagot viciously remarked.

"I would like a beer."

Startled, Natalie turned to look behind her. John was standing in the doorway, flanked by two anxious-looking Sharons who were clearly ready to intervene at the first sign of difficulty.

"John," she breathed, hardly believing it. And then common sense asserted itself. "What are you doing up? You shouldn't be out of bed," she barked as she walked rapidly toward him; "it's too soon!"

"Perhaps … but I really would like a beer."

"John," she said softly as she clasped him by the shoulders, "it is so good to see you."

"It is good to see all of you," he replied as he looked beyond Natalie to Leoben, who was grinning from ear to ear. And then he saw D'Anna, and a lump came into his throat. He brushed past Natalie to stand before her.

"Aunt D'Anna," he whispered, the words sticking in his throat. He was overcome with emotion. She looked so much like his mother—and so much like the Three who had tortured him on the baseship. It had taken him time to come to grips with the latter's lack of emotion, but a working relationship had blossomed between them, and the Three had gone on to become one of the leaders of Diaspora. He had come to accept that the Threes were not demonstrative, and only with difficulty connected with whatever emotions they truly possessed.

"Our child," she said in that calm voice that he now knew so well, "our son." She wrapped her arms around John, and held him tight. "Our son. I thank God every day for this great blessing. You and Kara are our hope and our deliverance."

Never comfortable in the presence of religious belief, John attempted to steer the conversation in a different direction. He stepped back and looked around the room, taking them all in. "And now one of the Sharons is pregnant … and this time neither Cavil nor anyone els … uh is going to take her baby away from her!"

"No," Natalie grimly agreed, "the Ones are not going to rob us of our future. And we're going to find your mother, John … your mother and Kara's. There are only so many places to look."

"I was born on the Colony." There was a distant look in John's eyes. "I know the room … I know every square in … in … chuh of it. Sorry," he grimaced; "they're there … somewhere on the Colony. But the others …

"The others?"

"So many had doubts, Aunt Natalie. Twos, Sixes, Eights, even Fours … but Sixes the most of all. The Cavils were pitiless. They killed everyone who wavered. They would not allow you the luxury of an independent voice … the luxury of dissent. It was permanent dea … dea … th or boxing: in retrospect, I presume the latter. Sorry," he repeated apologetically, "I cannot say many words."

Natalie looked at him in surprise. _The humans knew about us? They were following us? _"It's okay," Natalie soothed. "I find it hard to speak myself. There are too many emotions coursing through me. I'm just so happy to see you."

"The Hub," Leoben interrupted thoughtfully. He looked at Natalie for confirmation. "If the Ones boxed them, they'll be on the Hub."

"Then we target it," Natalie said, and there was no doubt in her voice. "With or without Adama's help, we'll find our people."

"John," she went on, "how long did you know about us?"

"From the beginning … six years before the war."

"Wait a second," Marshall Bagot exclaimed. "Are you saying that the government knew that the Cylons had infiltrated the Colonies? You knew that they were there _years_ in advance of the holocaust?"

"Yes."

"And you did nothing?" Bagot was incredulous. "You did nothing to protect us?"

"In the entire history of the Colonies, a territorial state has never defeated a nomadic society in war. _Never. _And that's what the Cylons are … nomads with nukes. We could not attack them because they had no fixed position to defen … duh, but they knew where to find us. We could not save the Colonies, but we could save mankind. We laid a trap, and we destroyed almos … tuh all of the Cylon baseships. Now, we are nomads, and Cavil does not have the resources to find us. As long as we remain in space … keep moving … we ought to be safe. Cavil can only find us if we make planetfall."

"Did … did President Adar know any of this?"

"Yes. Richard, General Berriman, Colonel Greene and I drew up the plan for humanity's survival. We all hoped that Cylons who discovered the truth would join us."

John reached out to take Natalie's hand. "I wish Richard was here," he said to her. "The President understood the futility of war. He wanted peace … he wanted all of us to let go of the past. He shared my dream, Natalie … Cylons and humans at peace."

"I wish that I had known him," Natalie said. John could hear genuine regret in her voice. She looked at Marshall Bagot. "I wish that we could go back in time and heal the wounds … make it all go away," Natalie told the Quorum member, "but we can't. We can only learn from our mistakes … all of us … and try to do better now and in the future."

"And is a beer in my immediate future?" John allowed a certain sense of urgency to creep into his voice.

Natalie smiled, and squeezed his hand affectionately. "I think so, but … on one condition."

He looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"That you stop calling me _Aunt _Natalie! John, you are several years older than me. You are our child, _but I do not regard you as a child._" She gave him a meaningful look, hoping that he would understand.

John Bierns blushed. Natalie was incredibly beautiful, and her straightforward manner had made her a comfortable presence in the stream. He enjoyed being with her, but this was a path down which he was unwilling to go. He thought that he had lost Mara forever, yet now there was at least a chance that he would someday get her back. He couldn't even begin to imagine how he would deal with Mara and Deirdre simultaneously. Resurrection, he decided, can be damned hard on the nerves.

. . .

"It's interesting," Adama remarked as he carefully applied a finish coat to one section of his model ship. "Betrayal has such a powerful grip on the mind. It's almost like a python. It can squeeze out all other thoughts … suffocate all other emotion until everything is dead except for the rage. I'm not talking about anger. I'm talking about rage. I can feel it … right here." Adama's hand pressed against his heart. "It's like it's gonna burst. I feel like I want to scream … right now, as a matter of fact."

Shelly got up from the bed and walked over to stand behind him. She leaned down to wrap her arms around his chest, and she nestled her head against his shoulder. "You need a new hobby," she observed. "Your ship demands patience and restraint … it doesn't give you a chance to vent. All that anger … all that rage? You have to release them … and I know just how to put all that negative energy productively to work!" She reached out and gently took the brush from his fingers. "Come on," she breathed, "come to bed."

Adama grinned. "Is that an order, Ambassador? Are you my therapist now in addition to everything else?"

"Yes. It's an order, and I expect you to obey. . . ."

Afterwards, when they were lying comfortably in one another's arms, Shelly picked up the thread of their earlier conversation.

"I don't think the problem is that you were betrayed. I think it's that you felt helpless, and you don't like that feeling one little bit. You were shot, you were injured, and you couldn't do anything to prevent a bad situation from spiraling into something much worse."

"Shelly, don't make excuses for me."

"I'm not. And when you finally got back on your feet and had a chance to set things right …"

Bill audibly groaned.

"You let us down. You let your pride get in the way … that stubborn Adama family pride … Tauron pride."

"I have got to learn to keep my trap shut." Bill was sorry now that he had ever opened this particular can of worms.

"You let us down. You made a promise to everybody in this fleet … to find Earth, to find us a new home. It doesn't really matter what the President did or even what Lee did. This is about you, not them … about the actions that you're taking. Ultimately, Bill, that's all you can control … your own actions. And every day that we remain divided is another day on which you've failed to do the right thing, another day on which you've broken your promise."

"Shelly, I didn't put a gun to anybody's head. The people aboard those ships made their own decision."

"And that lets you off the hook? Bill, you are very, very good at passive-aggressive, but it won't work. You have a responsibility here. I know that it must sometimes feel like you're trying to herd cats, but if you give up or let your pride get in the way people are going to die, and they'll take our future with them. It's time to heal the wounds, Commander Adama!"

"Enough, already!" Bill tried to get out of bed, but when Shelly wanted to use it, she had an iron grip. She had used it in the past, and she used it now.

"Yes, Bill, you're quite right … enough. Families have been torn in two. Children have been separated from their parents. Laura Roslin is as stubborn as you are, Bill, and that's a recipe for disaster. Somebody has to put the good of this fleet above their own pride. Roslin won't, so it has to be you. You're better than she is, Bill, and now I want you to prove it. I want you to do the right thing … I want you to show us all that you can conquer your pride."

Adama sighed. "This is one of those 'behind the woodshed' conversations, isn't it?"

Shelly smiled, and kissed him on the shoulder. "I prefer to think of it as one of those 'in the privacy of our bed' conversations. Now, if you need further convincing …" Shelly leaned forward, and turned his head so that she could kiss him full on the lips. "… or perhaps a bribe …"

. . .

"Eleven O'clock … twenty degrees elevation," Creusa said as she pointed off into the distance. "Do you see that formation of twin rocks?"

"Yes," Leoben replied, "I've got it."

"Could those be the Gates of Hera?" Creusa knew the Cylon scriptures, but the Twos and Threes were the real experts.

"Huh?" Starbuck was vaguely disappointed. "You mean that you don't know for sure?"

"Kara, we're putting together a lot of pieces from a lot of sources separate and apart from your scriptures." Leoben's tone counseled patience. "But I think Creusa's right … that's the spot where Zeus supposedly stood and watched Athena throw herself onto the rocks below out of despair over the exodus of the thirteen tribes."

"Supposedly?" Tom Zarek had been eavesdropping. "I thought Cylons believed in the gods."

"Not gods plural," Leoben objected. "We believe in the one true God."

"We don't worship false idols," Creusa added in a matter of fact tone.

"And yet you don't seem to believe that our scriptures are wrong," Apollo shrewdly observed. "Creusa, how can you dismiss the gods so casually and yet climb all over these mountains looking for a tomb that belongs to one of them?"

"Lee, we probably know more about your religion than you do. Athena's Tomb- whoever and whatever she really was- it's real, and it's up there somewhere. And we'll find it."

Starbuck dropped back to consult with Laura Roslin. "Madame President, we won't make it up there before nightfall."

The President nodded in agreement. "You're right, but let's push on and see how far we get. We'll make camp in an hour or so."

. . .

Adama walked into the CIC, with Shelly Godfrey a few steps behind. Force of habit led him to grasp the central console and look upward, but he was staring at the DRADIS screen without really seeing it. The commander turned, wanting Shelly to be at his side, but content to find her lingering at the communications console. She was smiling at him, silently lending her encouragement. He realized that she was proud of him, and that more than anything else told William Adama that he was doing the right thing.

"Mr. Gaeta, I want to see all recon material on Kobol immediately in my quarters."

"Aye, sir." The young officer's tone was appropriately neutral, but he couldn't quite mask the sense of relief that washed across his features.

"Kobol? We're putting together a mission for Kobol?" The XO was dumbfounded, but only until he glanced in Shelly Godfrey's direction. The look on her face told him exactly where this was coming from.

"Yes, Colonel," Adama countered. "I'm putting the fleet back together. I'm putting our family back together. This has gone on long enough."

Not wanting to embarrass himself any further, Adama began closely to study the DRADIS screen above his head. He did not see Petty Officer Anastasia Dualla reach out to shake Shelly Godfrey's hand.

. . .

"This must be very hard for you, Lieutenant. I know how close you and Captain Apollo have always been."

Laura Roslin was sitting on the ground, a blanket wrapped around her to ward off the chill in the early evening air. They had made camp for the night, and she suspected that they would have still another day of hard travel ahead of them in the morning.

"Madame President?" Kara Thrace looked at her, the confusion evident on her face.

The President nodded in the general direction of Apollo and Creusa, who were bedded down on the opposite side of the clearing. Lee had one arm wrapped around the young Cylon, while he used the other to feed them both from an MRE. It was clear that the Six loved the attention that she was receiving.

"Lee and I are like dirt and water, Madame President. Each is fine in its own way, but when you mix them together all you tend to get is mud." She stared across the clearing. "I'm happy for them both. Creusa's found her knight in shining armor, and Lee's fallen head over heels in love … but like most men, he's too thick to figure it out without someone giving him a good, swift kick in the ass." Kara giggled. "Please excuse my language, Madame President."

Laura smiled at the thought. "Who would have ever guessed? Lee Adama has hated the Cylons since the day he was born."

"Oh, I don't know, Madame President. Do you recall the reception after Lydia and Sibyl were married? Remember that stunning two-piece red suit that the Six was wearing? Lee did everything but climb into it with her. He may hate Cylons in general, but he's clearly drawn to my moms. And that's as it should be. They're the most beautiful females in this or any other universe!"

"I won't argue the point, Lieutenant, but I am curious about one thing. What is it like to have an entire Cylon production line regard you as their daughter? How do you cope with all the attention that you're receiving?"

Kara laughed. "Let's put it this way, Madame President. I'm expecting to do really well on my next birthday!"

. . .

"If we only use information contained within the Book of Pythia, which makes sense given the former President's conviction that she's the dying leader mentioned in that gospel, then the Tomb of Athena is most likely located somewhere … in the mountains to the west of the City of the Gods." Felix Gaeta's hand shot out and stabbed a point on one of the reconnaissance photos. Gaeta, the XO, and Galen Tyrol had joined Shelly and Bill in the commander's quarters.

Adama tended to agree. "Let's assume, he said, "that she's starting out from the most easily recognized landmark, which is the opera house. They'd set down somewhere in this meadow, and then head west on foot."

Galen Tyrol was also studying the reconnaissance material. "Our Raptor went down just outside the ruins of the city. Now, we never made it past … oh … this point here." He reached down and touched a spot on one of the photographs. "But we visually scouted the approaches out to the mountains. Sir, that terrain is so rugged that I can't imagine anyone navigating it without a map or a guide."

"You can take it for granted, Mr. Tyrol, that the President does not lack for guides … and very well informed guides at that."

Bill looked up and saw the look of smug satisfaction on Shelly Godfrey's face. It irritated him no end. "Come on, Shelly, don't keep us all waiting. What is it you know that we don't?"

"Bill, the President has found religion rather late in life. Some of our people have devoted the whole of their existence to the study of the scriptures … yours and ours. There are many clues to the Tomb's location, and Leoben knows them all. If he's down there with them, the President will find the Tomb."

"There you go, Mr. Tyrol," Adama sarcastically remarked as he spread his arms in the air. "Leoben will sprout wings, and fly them all to the Tomb. There'll be a neon sign outside that says 'THIS WAY TO EARTH' in letters three meters high. Kara Thrace will find a roadmap inside … you know the kind … continue straight ahead and at the sixth star system turn right. Then we'll jump down a worm hole, and when we come out, Earth will be on the other side."

"Um … yes, sir," the perplexed Chief replied. He noticed that both Gaeta and the XO were choking back their laughter, and he could well understand why. He had absolutely no desire to be caught in the middle of a lover's quarrel … especially this particular pair of lovers.

"All right, people." Adama suddenly turned serious. "Saul, organize a search party. After we complete the jump, Mr. Tyrol and I will be going down in a Raptor. I want to take four or five marines along for the ride."

"Oh no you don't, Bill Adama." Shelly Godfrey's tone brooked no opposition. "You're not going anywhere. It takes you two minutes to make it from one side of this room to the other, and it takes you twenty minutes to get from here to the CIC. You can't leave the ship without medical clearance, and Doctor Kottle isn't about to permit you to go galloping around the mountains of Kobol."

"Shelly, don't try to argue with me. Truth is … I'm the only one who can reach out to Roslin. It's always been between the two of us anyway."

"You're wrong, Bill; I can also reach out to the President. So, I'll go. Besides, Harder, Ferris, Mathias and Burrell are accustomed to following me about, and they work well together as a team. We can move fast—you would only slow us down. No … I'll go get Roslin, and you stay here and practice eating crow."

. . .

"Natalie," the Six yelled out from her post at the navigation console, "we have company. Two hostiles … and they're launching Raiders."

Natalie Faust sprang instantly into action. "D'Anna, order the fleet to execute an immediate jump to the stand-by coordinates … formation Bravo One. Sharon, designate the hostiles as Tango One and Tango Two, and load our missile batteries … a full spread. Six, mask our FTL's …"

"… already done," the Six interrupted. "And we've launched Raiders … five flights are taking up a defensive posture ahead of us, and the balance are wheeling to screen the FTL's."

Natalie glanced over at John, and smiled inwardly. He was leaning against the central console and his eyes were closed. She could see that he was concentrating hard, and for a moment she almost pitied the Cavils. The connection between John and Reun gave her a tactical advantage that was almost unfair. Almost.

"Six, designate the Raiders watching our FTL's as reserves. D'Anna, see if you can raise Leoben on a secure channel. Let him know that we're going to be a little busy up here. Instruct him to carry on to the Tomb. Once Kara has the map to Earth, I want him to get clear and turn the Tomb into a pile of rubble. Afterwards, everyone just sits tight until we have time to get to them."

"The fleet's away, but the Ones are jamming us. We may not be able to contact the President's party."

"Keep trying …"

"Both baseships are launching missiles," Leoben called out. "We have forty inbound … but no nukes." _That's curious,_ he thought; _the Ones love to throw nukes about. Why are they holding back?_

"Our Raiders are moving to intercept," the Six announced. "Now that's interesting," she murmured. Then her eyes widened with surprise. "Natalie, take a look at their formation!"

Natalie Faust entered the stream, and blinked twice. The hostiles had turned Cylon battle doctrine on its head. Normally, baseships kept a safe distance from one another in a combat situation so that the debris from a stricken vessel would not endanger the ships around it. This time, however, the two baseships were hugging one another, and their Raiders were deployed in a globular formation with the two capital ships at its center. The formation afforded the enemy baseships maximum protection, but at the cost of negating their numerical advantage in Raiders.

_They're afraid of us,_ Natalie instantly concluded; _they're actually afraid of us._

Natalie looked around the Control Room. "I want everyone to see this," she said. "It appears that our former friends have taken their defeat over Caprica to heart."

"The Raiders are tackling the missiles," Leoben observed. "They have the problem well in hand … it looks like … okay, confirming … nothing's going to get through."

Natalie continued to study the data flowing through the stream. "Six, commit twenty Heavy Raiders to reinforce our flank defenses. I want three hundred of our birds to engage enemy fighters and keep them busy. Then bring us 35 degrees to starboard, and take us down 20 degrees. Let's see if we can hide from Tango Two. Sharon, when you have a firing solution on Tango One, fire off fifty of our own … make it groups of ten, at seven second intervals, maximum dispersal."

"Missiles away," Sharon calmly reported. She grinned at Helo, who was standing on the opposite side of the weapons console. She knew that he was itching to get into the fight, but there was nothing he could do except offer moral support.

"Missiles incoming," Leoben cut in. "Tango One has fired off another twenty … there are five nukes in the mix."

"Tango Two has dropped below Tango One's horizon," the Six yelled. "I'm diverting one hundred Raiders to handle the missiles …"

"And take us up," Natalie ordered. "I don't want Tango Two to get a sensor lock. Is their Raider perimeter still intact?"

The Six sifted the data, and frowned. "It's holding, but it's now asymmetrical."

"Find the point of maximum vulnerability, and throw a hundred Raiders directly at it. Let's give Tango Two a thing or two to worry about! Distance to Tango One?"

"Twenty-three MU's."

"Close to sixteen. Let's see how Tango Two will compensate."

"The inbound nukes are history, but one of the missiles with regular ordnance made it through the perimeter." Leoben's demeanor was grim. "We're going to take a conventional hit on the lead dorsal."

"Mr. Bagot," Natalie urged, "either grab onto something or get down on the floor!"

Marshall Bagot didn't need to be told twice. He dropped to his knees, and then to a fetal position.

"More DRADIS contacts," the Six screamed. "Frak! It's _Galactica_ … and Adama's brought the fleet with him!"

The missile struck home, and the Control Room shook violently.

"D'Anna, contact Adama. Transmit the emergency jump coordinates, and tell him to get the civilians out of here! Miranda, give me a damage report on the lead dorsal … Six, how far out are the enemy Raiders from the nearest civilian transport?"

"Eighteen MU's, and they're turning to attack."

"Landing bay 32 is open to space. We're bleeding air."

"Seal it off. Six, hold ten Raiders to shield the FTL's, but send the designated reserves and Heavy Raiders to cordon off the civilian fleet. We've got to buy Adama some time."

"_Galactica's_ launching Vipers," the Six said in an appalled voice, "but they're on the wrong side of the fleet. The Raiders will beat them to the punch … and Tango Two has dropped out of formation and is now accelerating to attack. Missile strike is imminent."

"Natalie," D'Anna said, "Lieutenant Gaeta has just informed me that the fleet will need two minutes to spool up their FTL's."

"Two minutes?" The look on Natalie Faust's face was one of stark disbelief. "In two minutes there won't be a fleet."

"Tango Two has launched missiles," Leoben quietly announced. "There are ninety outbound … all targeted on the civilian transports."

A look of iron resolve swept across Natalie's features. "Six, order the Raiders to engage at will. They're to keep everything in front of them and away from the fleet. Plot an intercept course with Tango Two that takes us under Tango One. Sharon, throw sixty conventional warheads at Tango One as we pass. Then reload … thirty conventional and twenty nukes. As soon as we have a silhouette for Tango Two, launch the whole package."

. . .

"DRADIS contacts," Gaeta barked. "I'm registering three Cylon baseships and approximately two thousand additional signatures … Raiders and Heavy Raiders. One baseship is squawking Colonial ID, and transponders on several hundred of the Raiders are emitting Colonial recognition codes. Sir, there's a lot of missile traffic kicking around out there, but the ships that followed President Roslin aren't here."

"They must have jumped clear," the XO exclaimed. "Gods, Bill, what timing … we've jumped right into the middle of a furball!"

"Captain Kelly," Adama ordered, "I want every Raptor and Viper that can fly off the deck as of five minutes ago. Their orders are simple: intercept everything the Cylons throw at us until we can jump the fleet. Colonel, get me a firing solution on the nearest hostile baseship."

"Bill, we don't have a firing solution," Tigh confessed as he studied the DRADIS display. "The fleet's in the way."

"What? Mr. Gaeta, where are the hostiles relative to our horizon?"

"Sir …"

"Excuse me, Commander," Dee interrupted. "We've just received emergency jump coordinates from the baseship. Acknowledging and forwarding, sir!"

"Thank you, Dee. Mr. Gaeta?"

"The nearest hostile is 30 degrees up and to starboard, sir … twenty-seven MU's out. But there's a big firefight underway between Raider contingents about fifteen MU's beyond the _Emba Brokk_."

"Helm, take us up 40 degrees. Mr. Gaeta, I need a direct course to that baseship. Gunnery captains, prepare to lay down enemy suppression fire, forward batteries only. Mr. Kelly, get the Vipers into the fight, and position the Raptors to intercept incoming missiles."

"Sir," Gaeta reported as he turned away from his console, "I'm tracking ninety missiles inbound. They're all targeted on the civilian fleet, and the Vipers and Raptors won't reach them in time."

"How long till the fleet jumps?" Adama dreaded the answer.

"Another ninety seconds, Commander," Gaeta replied. _And that's thirty seconds more than those ships have got,_ Gaeta thought.

. . .

Starbuck was standing in front of the rock wall. She had tried waving the arrow back and forth in front of what she presumed to be the entrance. She had touched the arrow to the door. She had even yelled "open sesame" and "abracadabra," among other less choice phrases … and nothing had happened.

"The stupid, frakking thing couldn't come with a handbook? Oh, no," she muttered, "of course not … because that would be just too frakking easy!"

Laura Roslin was frantically turning through the water and blood-stained pages of Elosha's copy of Pythia. "'And the arrow will open the Tomb of Athena'." No matter how many times she read it, the gospel refused to yield fresh insights.

"Yeah, well," Zarek caustically remarked, "unless someone spots a keyhole or something, either we're in the wrong place or we're just perfectly screwed."

Leoben laughed. "Mr. Zarek, among many other desirable attributes, the centurions really can move mountains. Why don't we all get out of the way and let them try?"

Leoben beckoned two of the centurions forward. On cue, they pushed on the rock door. It moved grudgingly, but it did move. And when it was finally open and they peered inside, it was clear that they had found it. This was, without a doubt, the Tomb of Athena.

The interior was strewn with broken statues, and humans and Cylons alike looked at them with something approaching awe.

"Look," Starbuck called out, "the ram … the twins. Those are the symbols for Aerilon and Gemenon. Gods! This is really where it all began. We all came from this place."

"Then this could be Picon," Zarek noted as he pointed at the statue of a fish.

"And this little lady would be Virgon, right?" Apollo caressed the statue's smooth flanks.

"Caprica the goat," Creusa murmured.

Laura Roslin walked up to one statue in particular. "Sagittaron the archer," she announced … "and he's missing something."

"Right," Leoben said; "it's time for the rest of us to clear out and let Kara get on with it." He walked up to her and clasped her hands. "Kara, this is it. This is where you begin to realize your destiny. You are the Guide of whom our prophecies speak. It is from this place that you will lead us home." He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek.

From outside they all watched as Starbuck notched the arrow in the archer's bow. Without warning, the door to the tomb slammed shut.

Leoben opened his pack and took out a small wireless transmitter. He turned it on and fiddled with the dials, but static greeted him on every frequency. He looked at Lee Adama, who knew instantly that something was seriously wrong.

"I can't contact the ship," Leoben said with a frown. "We're being jammed."

. . .

Natalie's Raiders had formed a picket fifteen MU's beyond the _Emba Brokk_, but they were outnumbered more than five to one, and dozens of enemy fighters had broken through. Twenty Heavy Raiders had built a second wall eight MU's out, and they were now scrambling to shoot down enemy fighters and their missiles alike. A mortally wounded Raider careened past the cordon of Heavy Raiders and slammed into the _Dahshur_. The ship exploded, and a bright fireball momentarily lit the night. . . .

"Tango One is firing," Leoben exclaimed. "We have twenty nukes heading right down our throat."

"Ours will get there first," Sharon snarled.

"Frak!" The Six pounded her fist into the console. "Tango One has just jumped away! Wait one," she yelled; "we're jumping too. . . ."

Ninety missiles poured into the thicket of warring Raiders, and without hesitation, dozens of Natalie's fighters hurled themselves onto the warheads, knowing that the resultant explosions would kill or cripple far larger numbers of the enemy. But dozens of missiles survived, to bear down on the overwhelmed picket of Heavy Raiders. Concentrating their fire on the approaching missiles and ignoring the enemy fighters dancing all around them, four of the Heavy Raiders were blown apart by enemy fire, their crews of Twos, Sixes and Eights left dead in the wreckage.

A missile struck the _Persephone_; a second and a third rammed into _Enkidu_ and _Diomedes_. More fireballs filled the night, the death toll already well in excess of a thousand. In the cockpit of _Poseidon_, the terrified crew watched death draw near—and then the crew of a Heavy Raider threw themselves onto the missile, detonating it less than a kilometer from its intended target. The blast washed over the transport and brutally pushed it out of formation; an astonished Captain Kevin Hobbes fought to regain control, fought to avoid a collision with the _Mutem Wia_.

Only the _Mutem Wia_ was no longer there. A Raider had found its way into the heart of the fleet, and two of its missiles had struck home. It was locking onto its next target when Hot Dog blew it apart. . . .

"Sir," Gaeta reported, "we've cleared the fleet, but we have no bearing to the target. Commander Six has jumped directly into our line of fire. One of the enemy baseships has jumped away, and she's engaging the other at point blank range. It's got to be brutal out there."

"Helm," Adama barked, "starboard one-third. Mr. Gaeta, put us on CBDR to the biggest cluster of enemy Raiders you can find. Starboard gunnery captains, ready enemy suppression barrage for maximum range. Dee, contact the baseship. Tell Natalie to get her Raiders out of our firing solution on my mark. . . ."

More fireballs flared and died. . . .

"Natalie, Tango Two is four MU's to port, at carom 000!" The Six couldn't quite believe what her senses were telling her. She looked up, looked directly at John Bierns. "Natalie, we're _inside_ their defensive perimeter!"

"Sharon, _hit them_," Natalie screamed. _"Hit them now!"_

"_We've already launched," _Sharon yelled back.

It was overkill, but John wasn't about to take any chances. They couldn't afford to allow Tango Two to fire off another missile salvo, so the moment they came out of their microjump he and Reun had unleashed everything in their batteries. Fifty conventional and nuclear warheads had slammed into the vulnerable carapace of Tango Two, and it was instantly consumed in a sea of nuclear fire. The EMP was so intense that it fried circuity all over Natalie's ship, and the blast wave drove them headlong into the mass of surrounding enemy fighters. Dozens of Raiders exploded as they collided with the larger ship's hull; hundreds more were scattered all over space. _Galactica's_ Vipers, which were only now beginning to filter into the combat zone, moved in for the kill. . . .

"Commander Adama," Dee cried, "Commander Six reports that her ship is undergoing a massive Raider assault, and she needs to recall her fighters …"

"Colonel Tigh, are we within range?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Very good. Dee, tell Natalie to get her ships out of there. Captain Kelly, order Blue Squadron to assist. They're to protect the baseship's FTL's at all costs. Mr. Gaeta, let me know when we have a clear field of fire. Starboard gunnery captains, stand by!"

"Sir," Gaeta interrupted, "I count more than a dozen Heavy Raiders flashing Colonial recognition codes on the edge of our firing solution. They're still mixing it up with enemy fighters … I don't think they can get clear."

Adama pounded the console in frustration. "Helm, bring us up another 10 degrees, full negative pitch and yaw."

"Gunnery captains, I know that this is getting old, but prepare to execute enemy suppression barrage on my mark." Tigh's eyes were riveted on Felix Gaeta, who had one arm raised high in the air as he stared at his DRADIS console.

"Now," Gaeta screamed.

"Fire at will," Tigh yelled.

. . .

Kara Thrace found herself standing in a grassy field. Twelve tall stone stelae were laid out before her, each encrusted with jewels that matched one of the star patterns over head. _My gods,_ she thought, _this is Earth! I'm standing on it. I really am. The scriptures say that when the thirteenth tribe landed on Earth, they looked up into the heavens and they saw their twelve brothers. Earth is the place where you can look up into the sky and see the constellations of the twelve colonies._

"Frak! Starbuck shook an angry fist at the array of constellations. "Good one, Zeus," she shouted out. "What the frak are we supposed to do, search the entire galaxy for this one particular star pattern?"

Kara turned in a complete circle, hoping to find more, but failing. This was it … this was all there was.

"This is just terrific," she yelled out into the night. "I'll know when we're on Earth _if_ I'm standing in the right hemisphere on a cloudless night. Couldn't you have just humored me and left a frakking map in this joint?"

Starbuck looked up at Scorpio.

"Hmm … the Lagoon Nebula … astral body M8. It's about a gazillion light years from Kobol and, from the looks of it, another gazillion from Earth." The infuriated pilot once again shook her fist at the heavens. "Gee, thanks, Zeus, you've been a really big help today! We've really narrowed down the list of possibilities here … why, there can't be more than ten million star systems out there for us to search. I'll remember to blow some smoke up your ass the next time I attend sacrifice. . . ."

Kara pushed the door open and walked outside to rejoin the others. Her sense of disgust was written all over her face, but in her heart she was secretly glad that her mission had failed. The fleet would have to traverse thousands of light years just to reach Earth's stellar neighborhood. It would take months if not years to find the damned place … and that, she decided, wasn't necessarily a bad thing. _Time may heal all wounds, but let's face facts … when it comes to Cylons and humans, the daggers are still buried up to the hilt._


	16. Chapter 16: Blackbird

CHAPTER 16

BLACKBIRD

Natalie Faust walked up to the board behind Laura Roslin's desk. She picked up a black marker and drew a heavy line through the number 49,655. She wrote a new number: 44,317. She next inscribed the names of thirteen ships. _Azimenarius, Boreas, Clymene, Coba, Dahshur, Diomedes, Embra Brokk, Kiya, Mutem Wia, Persephone, Picon 36, Scorpia Traveller, Vena Capa. _She appended two more entries to the bottom of the list: 14 Cylons, and 256 Raiders. This was the final tally … the roll call of the dead.

She turned around and stared silently at them all. President Laura Roslin, the twelve members of the Quorum, Commander Adama, Colonel Tigh, Captain Adama, Shelly Godfrey. She had summoned them all to this cramped space on _Colonial One_, and she had insisted that the press be allowed to attend. The wireless carried Natalie Faust's voice to every surviving ship in the fleet.

She began with the ships. She did not need to consult the board behind her; their names were seared into her brain.

"Fourteen Cylons," she continued, "256 Raiders, and 5,338 of the last humans in the universe … that's what we lost yesterday. I'm tempted to credit the enemy with a great victory, but that would be far from the truth. The truth is that the Cylons didn't win anything yesterday. The truth is that we, the people in this room, needlessly sacrificed all these ships and all these lives on the altar of our arrogance and pride. These people died because we behaved stupidly … and because we gave in to just plain wishful thinking."

Natalie glared at Adama. "Commander, you allowed a policy dispute with the President to escalate into a full-blown constitutional crisis. Colonel Tigh, you violated your oath as an officer by carrying out a patently illegal order … you actually arrested the President at gunpoint. Captain Adama, instead of refusing this order on _Galactica_, where you act might have done some good, you made a bad situation infinitely worse by sticking your gun in Colonel Tigh's ear in this very office. Colonel Tigh subsequently dissolved the Quorum of the Twelve- another patently illegal act- but not one member of the Quorum publicly protested. Not one of you stood up for the Articles of Colonization. Captain Adama then conspired with my sister to effect Laura Roslin's escape from _Galactica_—an act to which I gave my blessing because I was desperate to have someone in authority formally recognize that Cylons are sentient beings … that we at least have a right to exist in the same universe as humans. The President then went Commander Adama one better by stage-managing the dissolution of the fleet … and once again, nine members of the Quorum kept their silence. And finally, against my better judgment and knowing full well the risks, I agreed to escort a breakaway element of the fleet to Kobol. Why? The reason is very simple: because I couldn't wait to uncover the secrets of Athena's tomb … because I couldn't wait to find the roadmap to Earth that so many of us believed to be within Kara Thrace's reach. And, yes, because I was also desperate to find a place that all of us could call home … a place where humans and Cylons could start over, and learn to live together peacefully."

Natalie shook her head, sadness and regret lingering in her voice. "The scriptures tell us that any return to Kobol will exact a high price, and that the price must be paid in blood. We have paid richly—and it must not happen again. Madame President … Commander … there can be no more informal agreements sealed with a quiet handshake. The rest of us can't afford the bill. The two of you need to sit down and divide up your responsibilities. But more than anything else, the rest of us must have the assurance that the two of you will resolve future disagreements by sitting down and talking them through. There can't be any more coups … or declarations of independence."

The Cylon leader looked slowly around the room.

"Yesterday, when they had exhausted all other options, dozens of Raiders hurled themselves onto missiles that would otherwise have reached civilian targets. They have all downloaded … they have all been returned to slavery … and now they will fight for Cavil, who will amuse himself no end by sending them into battle against us. And we will definitely meet them in battle at some point because yesterday fourteen Cylons also died, six of them by sending their ships directly into the paths of missiles that, again, would otherwise have found civilian transports. Yes, they have all downloaded … and, yes, they will all try to withhold vital information. But Cavil is not above torturing his own people, so rest assured that before he boxes my brothers and sisters he will extract the one piece of vital information they possessed—the knowledge that we search for Earth. The scriptures offer him the same clues that they offer us, so doubtless our paths will cross again … and more blood will be spilt."

"We must prepare for it, with an integrated and more effective defense. Raptors and Heavy Raiders, like their battlestars and baseships, have complementary strengths. Humans have an unmatched capacity for improvisation, but centurions can fight in vacuum. We must learn to fight as one, and that means that we have to start trusting one another. Consider what a simple breakdown in communications cost us yesterday. My crowning error is that I didn't jump a Heavy Raider back to _Galactica_ to ask for assistance because, with the enormous tactical advantages that John and Reun give us, I thought we could easily handle two baseships on our own. It never occurred to me that Commander Adama might jump the fleet to Kobol without dispatching a Raptor first, but the commander didn't send a recon patrol because he thought that we'd call for help if we were under duress. People died because we were both operating on assumptions rather than procedures. This must not happen again. From this point forward, it is not simply a question of cooperating; we must work together as one fully integrated team. And this cannot be limited to the military. There should be a place for centurions on the _Hitei Kan_, on _Monarch_ and _Majahual_ … but as fellow workers, not as slaves. We want to carry our fair share of the burden, but we do not want to revisit the tragedy of our origins. We can relieve the overcrowding in this fleet by taking four thousand refugees aboard the baseship. I have extended this offer before, and now I am extending it again. Finally, we have spare FTL's that would triple even _Galactica's_ jump capacity. We have the ability to upgrade literally dozens of ships, and we would be happy to install these engines upon request. If you wish, think of this as self-interest on our part. Longer jumps will make it just that much harder for Cavil to find us. Improved FTL's increase the chances of our survival."

"It's time for all of us to let go of the past. Surely the three most difficult words to speak in any language are 'I forgive you'. But if we are to survive then we must all speak them … and we must speak them from the heart."

"Shelly, would you ask Kara to come in?"

. . .

"So," Adama asked, "now that the fabled roadmap to Earth has turned out to be just that … a fable … what are we going to do next?" Laura Roslin, Natalie Faust and Shelly Godfrey had joined Bill in his quarters for the inevitable postmortem. Bill had not exactly enjoyed Natalie's tongue lashing, but its sting was nothing compared to the public humiliation that he had just endured on the starboard hangar deck. It was bad enough that he had been forced to welcome Roslin back to the presidency when what he really longed to do was toss her out the nearest airlock. But doing so in front of the assembled press, the Quorum, a contingent of Cylons and most of _Galactica's_ crew had pushed him to the very limits of what he could stomach. Shelly was right. He and the President had been embroiled in a power play with the highest possible stakes, and he had lost. Roslin's hand had been immeasurably strengthened, and his own commensurately weakened. Now there was nothing to be done but move on.

"Bill, don't be such a pessimist," Shelly retorted. "The Tomb was hardly a complete bust. We may not have Earth's address but we do have a direction in which to travel, and that's more than we had before."

"I agree, Commander," Natalie added. "Let's keep in mind that we're following a path already laid out by the Thirteenth Tribe. The distances involved here are immense, so it stands to reason that they stopped periodically along the way to resupply their ships. We will undoubtedly travel through or at least scout systems that they visited, so we should be constantly on the alert for evidence of their passing."

"Bread crumbs," Laura mused. "We're looking for a trail of bread crumbs."

"That's very well put, Madame President. And," Shelly went on, "we may be able to narrow the search a little bit. Leoben's knowledge of the scriptures, both yours and ours, is profound, and Doctor Baltar's understanding of science is equally impressive. I suggest that we put them together. Under Leoben's tutelage, perhaps Gaius will be able to attach scientific meaning to texts that invariably take the form of allegory."

Laura Roslin laughed outright. "Gaius and Leoben … forced to sit down and work together? I love it! I just wonder which one of them will be the first to drive the other crazy."

"Sister, it's an inspired suggestion," Natalie said. "For some reason, Doctor Baltar is fixated on our model. Your Six told me that she had to put him in a hammerlock and threaten to break his arm if he didn't keep his distance. On the few occasions when he's crossed my path … well … let's put it this way … he's stopped just short of drooling. We've thought about setting him up with a Cylon wife, but he doesn't strike any of us as the monogamous type."

"Commander," Natalie added in a tone that contained the barest hint of a warning, "two of the things that Sixes and Eights are discovering about themselves are that we prize loyalty, and that we can be remarkably short-tempered. I don't think any human would want to be around when we get angry, and you definitely would not want to be the cause of our anger. Doctor Baltar needs to learn self-control—and Leoben may be just the machine to help him master it!"

"Fine," Adama responded; "I'll arrange for Leoben to be quartered next door to Baltar's lab. I'll assign a marine guard to keep the mayhem to a minimum. Now, on to other business. Natalie, I want our pilots to continue cross-training on Raptors and Heavy Raiders, and I want your people to begin practicing combat landings. Hitting the trap on a rolling deck can be more challenging than it looks. I also want to schedule combined exercises for Raiders and Vipers so that we can isolate the problems in command and control and get them fixed. And you're right … we have to design a new CAP, and reconfigure our entire defensive philosophy to optimize the strengths of our various mobile elements. There can be no repetition of yesterday's events."

"I agree, Commander," Natalie said, "but our Raider complement is now at considerably less than half strength. We still have 56 Heavies, but I'm uneasy about going into another engagement with only 328 Raiders. It's not the rate of attrition that bothers me. Our baseship does not carry your armor. We depend exclusively upon the Raiders to defend us against missile assaults, so we are now even more vulnerable than _Galactica_."

Adama remained silent for a few moments, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I don't suppose that we can armor the baseship?"

"Regrettably, no. Our ship is an organic construct; the graft simply would not take."

"Then I suggest that we station one full squadron of Vipers and several Raptors permanently on the baseship. We'll bring you inside our security umbrella." Bill paused to make some notes. "We can train your people to do maintenance on our birds, but for the time being we'll send some of our knuckle-draggers over as well. Just keep them well fed and ignore the still that's magically going to appear somewhere on your decks, and they'll be happy."

"Still?" Natalie had no idea what the commander was talking about.

Bill grinned. "Natalie, it's a time-honored fleet tradition. It goes all the way back to when we were sailing the planetary oceans … maybe all the way back to Kobol. For centuries our chiefs have been begging, borrowing or just outright stealing the raw materials needed to get an illicit distillery up and running somewhere below decks. There's nothing glorious about being a knuckle-dragger; the job means long hours and very heavy labor. A little alcohol can do wonders for morale, and it doesn't hurt that they all think they're slipping one past their superior officers. Another fleet tradition demands that all knuckle-draggers regard all officers as a collection of dimwits."

Natalie sighed. "Clearly, I have a lot to learn about humans and your traditions."

Shelly smiled sympathetically. "Sister, you'll be amazed at how quickly the Sixes and Eights catch on. Our sister who is with the marines? She _can't stand_ officers. Let the Sixes and Eights who do maintenance on the baseship start working side by side with Chief Tyrol's people, and I predict that in no time at all they'll share a common mindset. Like Creusa, they'll start regarding everybody in the control room as a moron."

Shelly looked gleefully at Adama. "Bill, you do know about your son and Creusa, don't you?"

"How could I not know," he countered. "My son's behavior has been fueling this ship's rumor mill for days."

"Well, what you don't know … what we all find positively bizarre … is that your notoriously upright, straight arrowed son has fallen for the single most eccentric copy in the entire collective. Creusa and Starbuck are cut from the same cloth, but poor Lee doesn't seem to have figured that out yet. We're all waiting to see what happens when he finally wakes up."

"That reminds me, Commander," Natalie remarked. "I've already told him, but when you next see Lee, you might want to stress that he needs to throw out anything in his wardrobe that's black. Creusa doesn't like black; indeed, it's fair to say that she's a little pathological on the subject."

All Adama could do was shake his head. _Pathologically eccentric Cylons? Who the frak would have ever guessed that the machines could be temperamental? _

But Bill kept his thoughts to himself. "Right, I'll send Chief Tyrol over to get everything squared away on the baseship. He and Boomer were very close, so it might do him some good to interact with other Eights. We also need liaison officers. I suppose Creusa should come over here, or Lee should remain over there."

"It might be best for Lee to remain with us," Natalie replied. "Sharon is eager to get Lieutenant Agathon away from her sisters, and Doctor Cottle has made it clear that he would prefer her to be on _Galactica_ so that he can closely monitor her pregnancy. She knows our weapons systems and preferred tactics, and she shares some of Boomer's memories, so she would be right at home in your CIC."

"Fine. Why don't you put Lee in operational charge of the Viper squadron we're sending you? I'd like to promote Kara to serve as CAG, with Sonja as her second in command … but would Kara be willing, and would that be all right with you? She still wears the uniform, but I'm not going to pretend that she'll blindly follow orders anymore."

"Why don't you ask her, Commander?" Natalie's expression was bland. "I have the impression that, recent revelations notwithstanding, Kara is still Kara. The one major difference is that, like her brother, she is now very much committed to saving lives rather than taking them."

"And what are we going to do about Major Bierns?" Laura had spoken with Marshall Bagot, and the spook's casual admission that the President and the CSS had both known about the human form Cylons for years had floored her. "It now turns out that two of the most important people in the fleet are hybrids, and that one of them worked for a top secret government agency that knew about Cylon infiltration years before the attacks. I honestly don't know how the fleet is going to react to any of this, but it doesn't take an oracle to predict that the conspiracy mongers are going to have a field day. If we mismanage this, it will be the _Gideon_ all over again."

Adama looked at Roslin as if she had taken leave of her senses. "Major Bierns," he caustically replied, "will go on doing whatever it is that Major Bierns wants to do. He will tell us as much or as little as he wants us to know—and short of arresting him, there's not a damned thing any of us can do about it. But at least his agenda is now pretty damned obvious. He wants what everybody in this room wants, so I'm inclined to let him get on with it. "

Bill walked over to his liquor cabinet, and poured himself a stiff drink of whiskey. In deference to Shelly and Natalie, he had contented himself with a glass of water, but Roslin had just touched a very raw nerve. Cottle had dutifully reported what he had witnessed on the baseship, and he had been unsparing with regard to the details. Roslin just didn't get it. Bierns wasn't fleet … hell, he wasn't even human … but the man had paid his dues, and presidents weren't in the habit of handing out the Medal of Freedom for frivolous reasons. This was about respect … this was about a soldier getting what was coming to him, and it frakking well didn't matter whether he wore a uniform or not. Bill had already quietly passed the word to _Galactica's _crew: John Bierns and Kara Thrace were both to be treated with the utmost respect, and anyone who failed to do so would find himself standing on the carpet in the commander's quarters.

"In case everyone's forgotten, the last time the major left this ship it was to free seven women from Cylon captivity … and he did just that. He paid a pretty steep price, but he brought them home." Adama finished his drink, and poured himself another. _Frak it_, he thought,_ I'm through playing this particular game. _He raised his glass in Bierns' honor, and took another long pull.

. . .

"Right," Racetrack yelled, "you're coming in hot, and your portside lateral thruster has just been blown to hell." Margaret reached out and locked the Raptor's thruster wide open, sending the ship into a tight, uncontrolled spin. "_Galactica's_ turning to starboard, and her nose is pitched down 35 degrees. There she is … now, you've got forty seconds. Get this bird on the deck."

The Sharon fought for control, using the starboard lateral thrusters in short bursts to compensate and slow the spin. Racetrack had drilled it into her: a single long burst, no matter how precise, would tear the ship apart.

"Remember, Eight, this is no Heavy Raider. The lighter frame and increased maneuverability don't allow a Raptor to absorb the kind of punishment that you're used to shaking off. A Raptor can't handle the high G forces, so treat her like a schoolgirl out on her first date. That's it, Eight … that's good."

The Raptor was still spinning, but Sharon was winning the battle, although she didn't have the slightest idea what schoolgirls and first dates had to do with anything.

"How's our approach?" Sharon was far too busy fighting the ship to take her eyes off the instruments.

"How the hell would I know?" Without warning, Racetrack threw a balloon filled with red paint against the screen. "I'm out cold, remember? I'm gonna bleed out unless you get this frakkin' bird on the deck, only you can't see shit because my blood is splattered all over the place. So you've got to rely on the LSO. For the next thirty seconds, Captain Aaron Kelly is God because he has both of our lives in the palms of his hands. But he's the best, damn Landing Signals Officer in the universe, so you will do exactly what he tells you to do!"

"Raptor six-two-niner," they heard the LSO remark, "you're drifting left of the center line. Remember, _Galactica's_ in a constant starboard turn, so you have turn with her or you'll smash into the bulkhead."

"Got it," Sharon called out as she used the forward thrusters to compensate. "How's my approach speed?"

"Six-two-niner, your angle vectors are too steep. Ease off the throttle and get your nose up or you're gonna bounce off the deck. I repeat, your angle vectors are too steep. Adjust … _adjust now_!"

"Damn it, Eight, cut your speed," Tigh ordered. He had been eavesdropping on the exchanges between Kelly and the Sharon. "You do not … repeat not … want to put divots in the Chief's deck. He still hasn't finished hammering out all the dents that Boomer left behind. _Cut your speed!_"

The Raptor was still slowly spinning as it crossed the inner marker, but Sharon had successfully matched the battlestar's velocity and pitch. She closed the throttles and coaxed her ship onto the deck. It bounced once before settling firmly on its struts.

"Congratulations!" Racetrack beamed at her pupil. "I'm still alive! Eight, we'll make a pilot out of you yet!"

. . .

"Morning, Chief," Jammer yawned. It was shortly after six, and James Lyman had expected to find the massive Cylon hangar deck that they had converted into a maintenance bay empty. Jammer didn't consider himself anti-social, but he did prize quiet and solitude, and both were impossible to find in _Galactica's_ crowded compartments and corridors.

"So, what's going on?" Jammer leafed through the hastily scribbled drawings that the chief had scattered about. Arc welders, angle grinders and other heavy equipment littered the floor. Whatever Galen was up to, he had clearly been at it for hours.

Figurski and Seelix wandered in, along with several Twos, Sixes and Eights. Tyrol had been careful to leave the more rabid Cylon haters in his deck gang back on _Galactica_, so he was badly short staffed, but the Cylons had surprised him. He had expected the skin jobs to slough off all of the dirty jobs onto the centurions, but with the singular exception of the D'Annas, the various models all seemed willing to get dirt under their fingernails and axle grease on their smocks. Ironically, the only problem that the chief had been unable to resolve in his first two days aboard the baseship was a very assertive Six, who made it clear that she considered humans in general and Galen Tyrol in particular to be idiots. The two of them were still engaged in a tug of war to see who would rule the roost, and the outcome was very much in doubt.

The mixed crew had already fallen into an efficient routine, with results that had fascinated Galen from the outset. In the morning, the humans gave the Cylons hands-on instruction in Viper and Raptor maintenance, but in the afternoon they switched roles, and the Cylons tutored their human colleagues in the fine art of Heavy Raider repair. It became instantly apparent that the two groups had very different philosophic approaches to their jobs. Humans specialized: Diana Seelix knew more about avionics than all the rest of Tyrol's knuckle-draggers put together, and the project that Galen had in mind wouldn't get anywhere without Dualla's expertise in communications. The Cylons, in contrast, were generalists. The Eights were better pilots and the Twos excelled at fidgeting with gadgets, but the Twos flew Heavy Raiders and the Eights did a lot of recurrent maintenance. The Sixes seemed willing to try their hand at anything, and the contrast between the overdressed and well manicured blonds that the Chief had passed in the corridors and their grease-stained sisters down in maintenance was startling. Galen was looking forward to taking up the topic with the Eight who had introduced herself as Naomi. What, he wondered, qualified some copies to be overseers while their genetically identical sisters got stuck with sewage recycling?

"All right," Galen said as he scanned his crew, "here's the deal. We are going to build a new fighter. And no … I know what some of you are thinking … this is not just something to take my mind off Boomer. We really need to do this. We need to do this together."

"Huh," Jammer protested, "what about the rest of the ships? I'm three days backlogged on repairs as it is."

"Hey, this is strictly an off-duty project," Tyrol countered. "Nobody takes one minute away from regular maintenance and repairs. You get it? We take our time. A month, two months … it doesn't matter. This is so we can roll something off the shelf that belongs to all of us. You hear me? All of us."

Jammer shook his head. "I wouldn't even know how to begin," he muttered.

"That's so typical of a human," the Six sneered. "You're ready to quit before we even get started. Count us in, Chief—I think it's a great idea."

"Hey, you don't know what the frak you're talking about." Jammer wasn't about to take any lip from a skin job. "He's talking about fabricating a frame … avionics … life support … the whole deal. It's frakking impossible!"

"He's right, Chief." Figurski thought that it was time for cooler heads to prevail. "I don't mind taking on a Heavy Raider, but sleep is not an option for human beings." Figurski looked guardedly at the Six.

A disgusted look swept across Chief Tyrol's features. "You know what, Figurski? Forget you. I don't need you or Jammer. If the Cylons are willing to pitch in, and the centurions feel like doing some of the heavy lifting, we'll get it done. So screw you guys."

Naomi walked up to Galen and laid a hand on his arm. The Eight wore her hair a lot longer than Boomer, but she had the same wonderful eyes and the same impish smile.

"Don't worry, Chief," she assured him. "We'll get it done … and we'll get it done in six weeks tops."

. . .

John Cavil strolled casually into the baseship's conference room, but his demeanor was confident. He both looked and acted like a machine without a care in the world. He knew exactly how this meeting would go. The two Fours and Fives would support him without question, while the two Eights and the Leoben copy would support Caprica Six. The balance of power rested with the Three, but Cavil had no intention of allowing his neurotic sister to get a word in edgewise.

Cavil sat down opposite Caprica Six, and looked expectantly across the table. "Six, you called this meeting. What's on your mind?"

"What's on my mind, _brother_, is the latest rampage against the humans. We agreed that there would be no more such attacks! Or have you conveniently forgotten that it was your model's vote that secured the new consensus?"

"Six, what can I say? Obviously, some elements of the fleet have yet to receive the news that peace and love have broken out all over."

"The Raiders are telling us that thirteen of the humans' ships were destroyed in the battle. That translates into thousands of deaths …"

"Yes, well, we also lost a baseship. That should be of some concern to you … or have we stopped bothering about our own losses?"

"The point is," Leoben reasonably contended, "that there shouldn't have been any losses at all. This engagement should never have happened. Brother, you have made it just that much more difficult for us to forge a lasting peace with the humans … just that much more difficult for Kara Thrace to fulfill her destiny."

Cavil stared at Leoben, the disgust plain on his face. "Oh, please, can we keep the mumbo-jumbo out of it? Two, your obsession with this human is becoming tiresome."

"And your well-established habit of throwing away baseships has become no less tiresome," Boomer objected. One more battle like this one, and we won't have to worry about making peace with the humans. They'll win this war by default."

Cavil impatiently drummed his fingers on the table. "I don't recall," the One said carefully, "giving Natalie a reprieve—but perhaps I missed something when we voted to let our former masters live another day. The human losses are truly unfortunate, but this is war and you have to expect some collateral damage. Those thirteen ships simply got caught in the crossfire."

"Order the fleet to retreat, Cavil." Caprica was not in a mood to mince words.

"Fine," Cavil conceded. "I must have misunderstood what we were voting on the other day … but, hey, I'm machine enough to admit it. Never mind. One of my siblings is on his way to the fleet right now, to give Roslin and Adama the glad tidings. Peace in our time, and all that good stuff. All they have to do is cut Natalie loose. If the humans want peace, that's the price they'll have to pay."

"That was never part of the agreement, Cavil!"

"Six, I'm making it part of the agreement."

Cavil got up and walked out.

. . .

"All right, people, everybody listen up. This is not, I repeat _not_, a live fire exercise. _Majahual_ is engaged in mining operations on the largest asteroid in this field, and we are going to defend her against a simulated attack. Two hundred Raiders are going to show up here any minute now, and we only have one hundred available for the defense. So, Kat, Red Team is going to have to pick up the slack. Don't expect any help from Blue Team; for the purposes of this exercise, Apollo is bogged down protecting _Galactica_ and the baseship against another wave of Raiders. Sonja, are you ready?"

"Kara, our gun cameras are on and recording," the Six replied. She was the designated referee for the war game. Kara would be concentrating on a real-time evaluation of Red Team's tactics.

"Here they come," Kat shrieked. "Red Team, _Majahual_ is the designated target. Deploy the virgin's ass _now_! Let's show these guys how it's done!"

Ten Vipers and two Raptors instantly maneuvered into a tight but staggered formation directly above the mining ship. Kat had deployed her Raiders in a broad arc that covered most but not all of the many passages that would allow enemy Raiders to penetrate the asteroid field and assault _Majahual_. She wanted to minimize her disadvantage in numbers by utilizing the asteroids themselves as part of her defense. The idea was to bog down the initial enemy advance and thereby invite the opposing Raiders to regroup for a secondary attack along the few undefended corridors. If the Raiders fell for it, they were in for a nasty surprise. Eight Vipers and one Raptor would advance to pin them in place, and designated Raiders would break away from their defensive formation and sweep in from both flanks to catch the enemy birds in a heavy crossfire. Four Vipers and the second Raptor would continue to huddle above the mining ship; they would act as reserves that Kat could commit to any place along the battle line where the defense was breached.

"Look alive, boys and girls," Skulls commanded. We're dealing with four columns … looks like fifty Raiders each … no reserves." The ECO was getting nice, clean imagery despite the boulders that were cluttering up his screen. "They're going with brute strength … trying to punch through with sheer force of numbers alone."

"Viper reserves, watch your designated sectors." Kat wanted to make sure that her team remained focused. "You're responsible for anything that breaks through."

Starbuck cut into the comm channel. "Has anybody thought to warn _Majahual_ that company's coming?"

"_Frak! _Good call, Starbuck," Racetrack yelled out; "we missed it."

Margaret instantly switched frequencies. "_Majahual_, we are tracking two hundred inbound Raiders. Have the Six activate the centurions' countermeasures suite."

The First Officer turned to the platinum blond Six and mouthed the single word "countermeasures." In a matter of seconds, four squads of centurions out on the surface of the asteroid activated anti-missile batteries that were ringing the ship.

"Six," Starbuck queried, "how are you communicating with the centurions on the surface?"

"Standard protocols, Kara," the Six replied. "I have a centurion standing beside me. I give him the order, and he relays it through his internal transceiver."

"Can the Raiders jam the frequency?"

"Negative. Centurions and Raiders are designed to communicate on radically different bandwidths. It's the only way to avoid confusion when the Raiders are providing close air support for ground operations."

"Could a Raider be modified or specially designed to jam the centurions?"

"It's possible," the Six decided, "but it would be a lot simpler just to send in a Heavy Raider. Their pilots often coordinate with centurions on a common frequency. Heavy Raiders carry a full electronic countermeasures package."

"Uh-huh," Starbuck murmured. She was busy taking mental notes. It was now obvious that their communications were extremely vulnerable to Cylon countermeasures, and would need to be ramped up.

"Kat … Skulls. Be advised that Raiders are breaking away from the frontal assault and regrouping. They're going to try something else. Let's see if they go for it."

"Stallion," Kat shouted, "move your ass. Reinforce bravo sector right frakkin' now!"

"On it," Stallion yelled, as he engaged his throttles.

"Kat, they're coming right down Broadway. Looks like thirty flies are going to enter the spider's web."

"Understood, Skulls. Red Team, on my mark … engage!"

The eight Vipers and their Raptor nursemaid raced forward, and their appearance caused the enemy fighters to hesitate just long enough. Kat's Raiders fell upon them from both flanks, and in short order Sonja declared the entire enemy column to be wiped out. Kat's combined force of Raiders and Vipers then fell upon the rear of all four columns. When it was all over, Sonja declared all two hundred enemy craft to be destroyed, at a cost of 34 of their own birds. . . .

Sonja's Heavy Raider was the last ship to enter _Galactica's_ hangar bay. Starbuck and the Six would now spend hours going over the film and comparing notes, looking for ways to improve performance and reduce casualties. She was not in a particularly good mood- 34 dead Raiders was ten percent of their available force- and the sight of Red Team's pilots whooping and hollering as they congratulated themselves for their seemingly cost-free victory irritated her no end.

Sonja walked straight up to Stallion. She remained silent until the ruckus going on around her had died down.

"Tell me, Lieutenant, do you like to wank off when you're in the cockpit?"

"Ma'am?"

"The answer that you're looking for, Mr. Fears, is 'yes'."

"Uh, yes ma'am."

"I'm glad to hear it, Stallion. I'd really hate to think that four of our Raiders just died out there because you're a poor pilot. Or am I being unreasonable here, Mr. Fears? Do you habitually wait for your squadron leader to kick your butt into motion?"

"No, maam. Sorry, ma'am. In my defense, however, please let me point out that four of us were designated as reserves. In our system, reserves don't commit to the battlefield without specific authorization from command authority."

"Then I suppose that I need to have my hearing checked because I could have sworn that I heard your squadron leader notify you that 'you're responsible for anything that breaks through'. Lieutenant Katraine, is there in fact anything wrong with my hearing?"

"No, ma'am. I'm thinking of changing Lieutenant Fears' call sign from 'Stallion' to 'Sawdust' because that's what he seems to have between his ears."

Sonja circled slowly around as she studied the faces of the human pilots. "Now listen to me, all of you. This is not a competition, and we don't keep score. So, take your egos off the table. If you start daydreaming about how many kills you're going to rack up, and which one of your fellow pilots you're going to frak when the day is done, we are going to lose more ships and more lives. Am I getting through to you?"

Sensibly, the pilots all chose to keep their peace.

"Good," Sonja commented. "We'll run another simulation tomorrow … and we'll keep running them until I'm satisfied that you people know how to do your jobs."

Up on the gantry, Bill Adama and Saul Tigh quietly watched as the Six ripped into their pilots.

"Gods, Bill," the colonel remarked, "that is one tough lady. She's got 'XO' written all over her!"

. . .

"DRADIS contact," Gaeta yelled. "One bogey, a Heavy Raider, bearing 224, carom 032, distance 23 MU's."

"Set condition one, and scramble the alert Vipers" Adama ordered. "Dee, order the fleet to spool up their FTL's and stand by to jump to the emergency coordinates."

"Yes, sir!" Dee frowned, and pushed her headset down more tightly around her ears. "Sir, we're being hailed. It's the Heavy Raider."

Adama picked up his telephone. "Adama. Identify and state your intentions, or we'll shoot you down."

"Adama, this is Brother Cavil. I'm alone, and this ship is unarmed. We need to talk."

"Cavil, what the hell do you want?"

"I'm here to discuss a truce between our two peoples. I'm here to lay down the framework for a permanent peace between humans and the cylon."

Adama cupped his hand over the phone. "It's a peace initiative, Saul."

"Peace," Tigh snickered, "with that frakker? It's a mind game, Bill … the machine is just trying to get inside your head."

"Maybe so, but it's not my call. This one has to go to the President's desk." Bill turned away. "Dee, get the President on a secure line."

"Sir," Gaeta reported, "we've just completed a radiological sweep. The ship is clean, and her weapons systems are powered down."

"Cavil, you are cleared to land in our port landing pod. You will have a Viper escort all the way in. If you so much as cough, they will shoot you down. Is that clear?"

"Well, it's a good thing Cylons don't cough or get runny noses, isn't it Commander?" I'll be on your deck in a few minutes."

"Sir, I have the President on the line."

"Madame President, we have a single hostile inbound. It's a Heavy Raider diplomatic initiative. One of the Cavils. He says that they want to talk peace."

"Peace," Roslin smirked. "We've just lost over five thousand people, and they want to talk peace." She sighed. "Very well. Send a Raptor for me, and invite Natalie, Kara and John to join us. This should be interesting."

"Very good, Madame President. The machine will undoubtedly arrive first, so I'll park him in one of the conference rooms … with the meanest, ugliest marines I can find. . . .

Laura Roslin entered the conference room, to find Cavil lounging in a chair on the opposite side of the table. She sat down directly across from him, and Natalie Faust and Shelly Godfrey took the seats to her left and right. Bill chose to remain standing in the background. John Bierns and Kara Thrace both quietly entered the room with a pair of centurions in tow. John moved to stand at Adama's side. The two hybrids both radiated unhappiness, but Adama's stomach rolled over when he looked at Bierns. He had never seen such raw, unfiltered hatred on a face before, human or otherwise. If Adama had entertained any residual doubts about the ultimate intentions of the rebel Cylons, they vanished in that moment. He laid a hand on Bierns' arm, gently restraining him. The major appeared ready to jump the table and tear Cavil apart with his bare hands.

"What do you want, Cavil?" Natalie couldn't be bothered with preliminaries.

"Why Six," Cavil mocked, "congratulations on your promotion. I didn't realize that you had been elected President of the Colonies."

"I'm President Roslin … and you haven't answered the question. Just what is it that you want?"

"Peace, Madame President: I believe that the conventional phrase is 'peace in our time'? There's been a vote, and it's been decided that the occupation of the Colonies was an error. The majority have come to the conclusion that the war was a mistake … a testament to our flaws as a species. So, my mission here is simple. I'm to tell you that you've been given a reprieve. Cylon and man will now go their separate ways, no harm done."

"No harm." The absurdity of it left Laura Roslin nearly at a loss for words. "You've nearly annihilated our race and destroyed our civilization …"

"Now, now, Madame President, let's not start pointing fingers. You see, we're not like you. We can admit our mistakes. We're not afraid of change."

"What's the catch?"

"The catch, Madame President?"

"What do you want in return for this magnanimous gesture of yours?"

"Why, nothing, Madame President … nothing at all. I meant exactly what I said, every word of it. You give us back our wayward brothers and sisters … all of them … and we part ways. It's a big universe; our paths need never cross again."

"And what happens to Natalie and Shelly, and all the others," John asked. "Will you simply box them, or will you torture them first? I know you, Cavil, I know what you're capable of doing. You'll torture them, and it'll go on interminably not just because you want to supply object lessons to intimidate the others, but because you enjoy inflicting pain. You're a sadist."

"Ah, the Abomination speaks," Cavil sneered. "Didn't your mother teach you not to speak out of turn, boy? Ah, no, I forgot … she wasn't around long enough to teach you any manners, and I guess the Sisters in that orphanage of yours weren't up to it either. The next time I'm home, I think I'll unbox your mother and have a little chat with her about child rearing. She'll be really disappointed to learn how human you've turned out to be."

"You son of a bitch," John snarled as Natalie leapt to her feet.

"_Major, stand down!" _Adama gripped John by the elbow, he gripped him hard, but the hybrid threw Adama off without even realizing that he had done so.

"And while I'm at it," Cavil continued, "I think I'll bring back that precious Six of yours … what was her name … Mara? The two of you were frakmates for months. Why, she even told us how desperately she'd fallen in love with you. She must have seen something in you that I'm missing. But then again, maybe losing her … maybe watching me gut her and toss her into that foundry … maybe it all really messed you up big time. Maybe she wouldn't even recognize you anymore."

A wounded animal's cry of rage and pain spilled out of John Biern's mouth, and he leaped across the table. He pulled Cavil out of his chair, and threw him skidding along the table's highly polished surface. Cavil slid off the end and crashed to the floor in a sea of overturned chairs. Pandemonium erupted all around him, but John Bierns had entered a very dark place, and he was blind to everything except his own fury. He raced around the table and reached down to pick Cavil up and slam him into the wall. He pinned him by the neck with one hand, and began to tighten his grip.

Startled marines began to bring their weapons to bear, and that caused the two centurions to unsheathe their weapons.

"Stand down! Everybody, lower your weapons," Adama yelled. He acutely appreciated the fact that the centurions would slaughter everyone in the room, human and Cylon alike, if that's what it took to protect John and Kara.

"John," Kara screamed, "look at me, John … _look at me_!" She had scrambled to his side, and now she grabbed him by the cheeks and forced him to turn his head and make eye contact. "This is neither the time nor the place, John … but I promise you, our time is coming. It's coming. Let him go. You can't save our people if you play into their worst fears."

John Bierns spun Cavil around and tossed him onto the table. He reached down, grabbed a handful of sweater, and pulled the One up until their faces were only inches apart.

"She's right," he snapped; "you're not worth what it would cost me to kill you. But you listen and you listen hard. You go back and you tell that frakking son of a bitch you call a brother that I'm coming for him. _I'm coming for all of you!_ You're all scum, and I won't rest until I've rid the universe of your stench."

John drove Cavil's head into the table and stormed out of the room, Kara Thrace and the centurions following hard on his heels.

"Well," Cavil said as he picked himself up, "that was unpleasant."

"Marines!" Adama longed to kill the machine, but there was no point. Cavil would download, and his execution would only serve to convince other Cylons that humans couldn't be trusted under any circumstances.

"Colonel Tigh," Adama barked, "escort this piece of garbage off my ship."

"With pleasure, sir," Tigh enthusiastically replied.

"Madame President," Cavil mildly inquired, his equanimity now fully restored, "does this mean that your answer is 'no'?"

"Here's your answer, Cavil." Adama stepped close to Shelly Godfrey, and took her hand. "I love this woman, and if she'll have me, I intend to marry her. We want to have abominations of our own, to go along with the others soon to be born on this ship. Now get your sorry ass off my deck!"

"Well, if you're going to be that way …"

"Cavil." Natalie's voice was low, but it had a very hard edge. He glanced at her.

"If you harm John's mother … if you harm any of my sisters … I will personally hunt you down. No matter how long it takes, I will hunt you down. You will die, and I promise you, it will not be an easy death."

"Marines," Natalie ordered, "get this bastard out of my sight!"

. . .

"Gods, Bill, I feel like I've just been put through a buzz saw. I thought that I hated the Cylons, but I'm no longer sure that I even know the meaning of the word." Laura Roslin was looking around the conference room, but her mind was replaying the events that she had just witnessed. It was a miracle, she thought, that Cavil had made it out of this room alive. "I wonder what the Cylon was really trying to accomplish here."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that the way he was taunting the major … Bill, I think the idea was for us to kill him so that he could download and remind the others that we're nothing more than a bunch of savages, treacherous and fickle."

"Yeah, that thought also crossed my mind … and Kara's as well. If she hadn't reached him, I think John would have torn that bastard in two. And you're right about the hate, Laura. We're rank amateurs by comparison with these people. This is going to be a war to the death … no quarter asked or given."

"I agree. This is no longer just about us and the Cylons. A lot more is at stake here than we ever realized." Roslin hesitated.

"Bill, did you mean it? Do you really love Shelly Godfrey so much that you want to marry her?"

"Yes. I meant every word of it. The only question now is whether she'll have me."

The President smiled broadly. "Why don't you go find her and pop the question?"

"And Bill," she went on, "while you're at it, please ask the Cylons if they have any idea how it's once again become so easy for Cavil to find us. I thought that we had that problem beat. After all," she grinned, "we wouldn't want to have to go to condition one in the middle of your wedding reception."

. . .

"Welcome home, brother … although I must confess that I was rather hoping you would return to us from the dead."

"Indeed. I tried, and I came close to succeeding. The Abomination is thin-skinned, and I made it easy for him. But the girl didn't fall for it, and she stayed his hand."

"Well, it's unfortunate, but in the broad scheme of things it doesn't really matter. _Divide et impera,_ as they used to say. You did get the message out?"

"Oh, yes. Rest assured that the humans now fully understand that their precious lives will be spared if they hand over our traitorous brothers and sisters. Adama and Roslin won't go along; Adama has publicly announced that he wants to marry the Six who so unceremoniously showed you the airlock. She really seems to have him beguiled."

"Excellent. The king and queen won't be able to persuade their subjects to live happily ever after with a machine race, so resentments will fester and perhaps explode. We have certainly sown dissension within the ranks."

"How go things on Picon, brother?"

"About as expected. The archive was right where we expected to find it, deep under fleet headquarters. The encryption on the main frame wasn't much of a challenge, so now it's just a matter of chasing down everything that has Corman's name on it and separating the wheat from the chaff. If it's there, we'll find it."

"And if it's not?"

"We are nothing, brother, if not masters of improvisation."

"Yes … yes … that's very true. And the asteroid project?"

"We've also recovered the CSS main frame, but the encryption has so far defeated us. The string may have as many as a thousand characters, and the combination of numerals, letters and symbols is artful. What is really stopping us, however, is the insertion of code from at least two of Kobol's ancient languages that the humans never managed to decipher. We don't know whether they have values capriciously associated with them, or whether someone was very naughty. It's possible that one of their agents had the linguistic talent needed to solve the puzzle but never published the results in one of their learned journals."

"Hmm. Will a forgery pass muster, or do we have to let this one go?"

"We'd be forging entire case files, with no real sense of the protocols. I'm reluctant to leave our fingerprints quite so visibly out in the open."

"So we may have to shut the project down. How much time do we have? Have you set a date for the evacuation of the Colonies?"

"We're seventeen days out, although we may have to extend the deadline. The Fours want to bring their experiments with us, but we don't have enough space on the ship. We have some underutilized transports accompanying the resurrection ships. I'm thinking of detaching two or three and handing them over."

"And will we set some of the females aside for our own amusement? I must confess, brother, that the idea of owning human slaves, especially those of the female persuasion, has a certain appeal."

"Brother," John Cavil said with mock sternness, "you always did have a dirty mind—and that is quite an admirable quality. I find the Eights sadly lacking in technique. I have distributed a lot of the pornography that so captivated the humans, but sadly, our dark-haired sisters seem unable to grasp some of the finer points … and positions … of carnal pleasure. Perhaps their performance will improve if they are able to study the humans at close range—and if we persuade our new pets that the only thing separating them from the airlock is their sexual ingenuity, not to mention their enthusiasm. I have found that humans can be marvelously innovative when they believe that their very lives are at stake."

. . .

"Okay, okay … hold it right there."

Galen Tyrol had finished fabricating the various pieces of the frame, and now it was time to assemble them. There was a lot of lifting involved, and it had to be done right. The joint on every piece had to be level and true, or the bolts and the welds would be stressed to the breaking point by the G forces that the fighter was designed to endure. Not for the first time, the chief found himself thanking the gods for the centurions. Two of them had thrown themselves into the project with what he could only describe as runaway enthusiasm. The very idea of it seemed absurd, but he would swear that the same two kept showing up day after day, and that they were helping him because they enjoyed building something.

"Chief, may I make a suggestion?"

Galen shifted his attention to Naomi. A slight smile crossed his lips. He had now worked with the Eight long enough to know that her 'suggestions' were oblique criticisms of the colonial way of doing things. He had developed a healthy appreciation of a fundamental truth: often, the cylon way of doing things was the better of the two possibilities.

"I'm listening." The chief was in the process of clamping the two beams together, preparatory to drilling out the holes that would accept the nuts and bolts.

"We have an organic resin here on the baseship that we use in lieu of welding. It smells like Hot Dog's socks, but it has tensile strength far superior to your welds. Because it's organic it breathes, and it also flexes. It will take much higher G forces than a conventional weld. I recommend that we coat the joint, drill out the holes, and then coat the nuts and bolts when we tighten them."

_It's worth a try,_ the chief thought. "Okay, let's try it your way. But I want to test the joints on the floor, not in space."

"Fair enough," Naomi responded. She went to fetch the resin, and when she returned they had the centurions separate the beams so that they could apply a thin coat to the two surfaces.

When they had finished, Galen ordered a coffee break. The human and the Cylon retreated to his makeshift office, which amounted to little more than a desk and a couple of chairs situated behind a rickety partition.

"Naomi, we've been at this for a couple of weeks now, and there's something that I've been meaning to ask you. It's just curiosity. All of the Eights have the same genetic code, right?"

"Sure. We call ourselves 'copies' for a reason."

"Well, if you're all the same, how is it that some of you get to be overseers while others get sent down here to do maintenance and repair? How do these decisions get made?"

"When we come out of the nursery, we share a common body of knowledge, but each of us is programmed to carry out a specific task."

"So there's no rhyme or reason to it? It's just the luck of the draw? Don't you feel cheated?"

"Galen, why would I want to be an overseer? They really don't do anything except stand around in the control room and act important. It's the rest of us Twos, Sixes and Eights who hold this ship together. We're knuckle-draggers, just like you … but knuckle-draggers make the world go round."

. . .

"Helo? Helo, wake up!"

"What's … what's matter, Sharon?" He reached out and drowsily flicked on the light above their bed. Married officer's country on _Galactica_ was spacious by comparison with racks in the rest of the battlestar, but in comparison with their chamber on the baseship their new quarters were tiny and cramped.

Sharon Agathon reached down between her legs, and when she brought her hand up, it was covered with blood.

"Sharon! My gods … the baby! We've got to get you to Doc Cottle!" Helo threw on his clothes, cycled the hatch, and then scooped his wife up in his arms. He raced down the corridors to the medical bay. It hadn't even been a week since the priest had quietly administered their vows in the presence of a very select and equal number of humans and Cylons. After all that they had been through on the surface of Caprica, Helo was ready to curse the gods. His family deserved better than this.

"_Somebody find Doc Cottle," _he yelled. He had never been so scared in his life. Sharon and the baby were his entire world, and the thought of losing one or both petrified him in ways that he couldn't even begin to describe. . . .

"Damn it, Sharon," Cottle raged, "I can't help either one of you if you keep trying to strangle me!"

"Sharon … honey … let the Doc work." He reached out to clasp her hands, but Cottle pushed him aside.

"Gods, Helo, you're not helping. Get the frak out of here so that Ishay and I can save your baby! Go on … get!"

"_Helo," _Sharon wailed.

"Honey, it's gonna be okay … it's gonna be okay. Just hang in there!"

"Come on, Helo," a sleepy and very grumpy Omar Fischer urged, "just wait outside, okay?"

"Gods damn it," Cottle barked. "Where is this tissue coming from?" He looked at Sharon closely. "Sharon, is there something about your placenta that you haven't told me? Because I've gotta say that this is damned irregular. It looks like afterbirth, but you're nowhere near your delivery date! What the frak am I dealing with here?"

"_I don't know,"_ Sharon sobbed.

"Sharon," Ishay cut in, "we need you to calm down, okay? You're terrifying the baby." Ishay was scanning the monitor; the more Sharon panicked, the more the fetal heart rate jumped. Ishay didn't think that the little girl inside Sharon's womb could take much more of this. "Doctor, should we sedate her?"

"Are you kidding? We don't know what's happening in there, but we'll start from the presumption that a sedative strong enough to do the mother some good will kill the baby. I need X-rays, and I need them stat!"

. . .

"Well, I hate to say it, Six, but you've got the cockpit too far back." Apollo was walking around the prototype fighter, running his fingers along the exposed but now intact skeleton of the ship. "You're gonna run into cg problems when you maneuver."

"The ship's a hybrid, Captain." Naomi had her cheek pressed up against one of the beams. She was sighting down the length of the frame, looking for dimples and undulations, but the frame was clean. "It's basically a human design, but we've incorporated just enough cylon technology to get us over the obvious hurdles. She'll take the punishment, but in any event we're going for speed. Besides," she smirked, "you've never thought that this thing would fly anyway."

"But why the hell did you choose to ram the cockpit up its … _Dee_?"

"Hey, Lee!"

"What are you doing over here?"

"Communications, I think. Galen's great with the hydraulics, but this com system's a mess."

"Officers on the deck," Figurski called out. "Everybody, ten-hut."

Saul Tigh, Felix Gaeta and Karl Agathon walked up to join the group of humans and Cylons gathered around the blackbird. Tigh was shaking his head in disbelief.

"I had to see this with my own eyes," the XO exclaimed. "Dee? Gods, it won't be long before we have the whole damned CIC over here."

"What brings you to the baseship, Colonel?" Apollo had long since realized that one of the nicest things about being off _Galactica_ was that he no longer had to put up with the Saul Tighs of this world.

"The commander wants Gaeta and yours truly to break bread with our counterparts in the control room, and Lieutenant Agathon came along to let everyone know that Sharon and the baby are doing fine. But I decided to take a little detour and check things out. You working on this class project too, Apollo?"

"No, sir."

Tigh harrumphed. "Well, it's good to see that someone has a little sense. Where's the chief?"

"Working on another of our class projects, Colonel," the Six replied with the barest trace of a smile. "I'll show you the way."

While Felix and Karl continued on to the control room, the XO followed the Six into a small cubicle attached to the hangar deck.

"What the hell," Tigh blurted out as he looked around the room. The Six walked over to touch a complicated piece of copper tubing. The chief had impressed upon her that it needed to be kept within a certain temperature range or … boom.

"I'm making solvent, sir, to clean machine parts."

"Solvent, my ass … I know a still when I smell it. Is this why no one in your gang seems eager to get back to the _Galactica_?"

"I need booze to trade for parts, Colonel. I'm scrounging a lot of what we need from the fleet."

"You're kidding me," Tigh protested. "I thought this frakkin' baseship was awash in spare parts."

"Yeah, that's true, but that's not how we want to do it. When this bird is finished, we want every ship in the fleet to have put something into her. Besides, it forces the Cylons to mingle … and when it comes to horse trading, Six and her sisters have got it down to a science."

Galen screwed the cap on another container full of his home-brewed rotgut and laid it aside. "But I need engines," he went on to say. "The Cylons have spares, but they're way too big for the job. We'd have to reconfigure the mountings and figure out some way to compensate for all that drag back on the tail. This is one of the times when smaller is better."

Saul poured a cup of the chief's moonshine, and cautiously sampled it. He made a face. "Gods, Chief, but this stuff will put hair on your lips!" He took a second, longer sip. "Oh, I almost forgot. I promised the XO of the _Baah Pakal_ that I'd help him out."

"Sir?"

"He's got some obsolete DDG-62 engines taking up space on his flight deck. He needs the room, Chief. Ah, they're probably crap, but I told him that I'd send a crew over to haul them out ASAP. They're yours if you want them."

Galen and the Six exchanged looks.

"We'll be glad to help, sir," the Six grinned. . . .

"We're so damn close," Naomi complained. The three officers had returned to take a final look at the blackbird's skeleton before returning to _Galactica_. "We can get by without gun mounts and missile racks, but there's got to be some extra metal lying around somewhere that we can use to skin this thing. Galen, think. Floorboard, extra bulkheads … there's gotta be something!"

"Who says you need metal?" It confounded Karl Agathon that none of them could see the obvious. This ship wasn't designed for combat, but they were all behaving as if it was nothing more than a newfangled Viper.

Galen and Naomi stared at him, silently urging him to go on.

"Carbon composite," Karl said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You've built an unarmed stealth ship … so why not make it hard as hell to see on DRADIS?"

Naomi rushed up to Karl Agathon and roughly pulled him into her arms. She kissed him hard on the cheek.

"Helo," she grinned, "you're a genius!"

. . .

Bill Adama rarely set an elegant table, but this was a very special occasion, and he had pulled out all the stops. The table featured a white tablecloth, candles, heavy silverware, crystal goblets, dishware that had come with the family from Tauron to Caprica. He had ordered the cooks to pull out all the stops in the kitchen as well. He wanted Shelly not simply to remember this night but to treasure it for the rest of her life.

Bill had invited Natalie and the President, as well as Kara and John. He had gone out of his way to persuade Lee to attend, and he had made it clear that he was eager to meet the fabled Creusa.

They had all been gracious enough to accept the invitation, and Bill was inordinately proud of the fact that the Cylons seemed to be enjoying the wine that he had decanted for the occasion. Shelly limited herself to a few, tiny sips, but Natalie and Creusa took to the vintage Leonis red with uninhibited gusto.

"I'd like to propose a toast," Bill said as he raised his glass. "To Creusa. I don't know why it's taken me so long to get around to meeting you, but I'm glad that you were able to come this evening. I wanted to take this opportunity personally to thank you for all that you did to save this ship. Without your courage under fire, some of us at this table wouldn't be here. Thank you."

"Here, here," Laura said. She stood up and walked around the table to stand at Creusa's side. She looked down at the Cylon, and bid her to stand.

Creusa did so, curiosity written all over her young features.

Laura took a small box out of her jacket pocket. "Creusa, presidents have many duties to perform, and this is one of the most satisfying. Humans do not allow heroism of the type you displayed on this ship to go unremarked. If you look at John's jacket, at the place that is immediately over the heart, you will see the Medal of Freedom. It is the highest honor that can be bestowed upon a civilian, and as a matter of law it can only be tendered by the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. John has never told us exactly what he did to earn this honor, but I can tell you that it requires the greatest possible sacrifice … a willingness unhesitatingly to lay down one's own life in the cause of duty while saving the lives of others. It is an extraordinary privilege for me to have this opportunity to award you the Medal of Freedom. From this moment forward, you are required by our most sacred traditions to wear this medal over your heart whenever you are required to attend a formal or ceremonial event. Congratulations."

Laura pinned the medal over Creusa's heart while the others stood and applauded. Lee was beaming with pride, and as soon as the President stood aside, he took Creusa into his arms and kissed her.

"Thank you, Madame President." Creusa was at a loss for words. She didn't think that she had done anything special, but Lee was obviously proud of her, and that alone made the moment sweet. "I wish I knew what to say, but I don't, so if you'll forgive me, I think that I'll say nothing at all."

"That's all right, Creusa," Laura replied. "But I'd like everyone to remain standing." She turned to address Bill. "Commander Adama, there's a rumor going around to the effect that I know very little about military protocol—and it's largely true." Laura reached into the opposite pocket and brought out an even smaller box before she walked up to face him. "But it's my understanding that anyone who commands two ships of the line is called an admiral." The President opened the box, and beckoned Lee to step forward. "Captain Apollo, as the senior officer otherwise present, would you do the honors?"

"With pleasure, Madame President!" Lee removed the commander's rank insignia from Adama's collar, and proceeded to pin the admiral's insignia in their place. He stepped back, and crisply saluted.

"Congratulations, Admiral Adama!" Then he took his father's proffered hand. "Dad, these are long overdue … and they've been very hard earned … I guess, maybe too hard earned."

"Thank you, son …. Madame President. You know, I never gave up hope. I just … well, I just stopped trying to get these a long time ago."

"It just goes to show you, Bill. You never want to give up hope."

"The same goes for you, Laura." He looked from face to face. "You know, they say that good things happen in threes." Bill raised his hand and ran his fingers over one of the pins. "These mean a lot to me, more than I can ever tell you, but there's one piece of jewelry that means a lot more." Bill reached into his pocket, and then he walked down the table to stand beside Shelly. He reached out to take her left hand in his own; in his right, he was holding a diamond ring. "This is an engagement ring. It pledges us to be married. Madam Ambassador, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

"Bill, I have little ambition," Shelly said, her eyes large and bright, "and but two that really matter. I want to love you for the rest of my days, and if God will grant me the privilege, I want to give you children. Yes, Bill, I will marry you."

The two lovers kissed. Natalie Faust watched quietly as Lee Adama wrapped his arm around Creusa's waist, watched as Creusa leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. _It's starting,_ she thought; _it's really going to happen. _She looked at Kara and John, and considered the lifetimes of suffering that they had both endured. So much had been lost, but at the end something good had somehow come out of it. The look on John's face, which was so often shadowed with the pain summoned by haunted memories, mirrored for once a spirit content and at peace. A powerful sense of warmth suffused Natalie's being, and she luxuriated in the mosaic of feelings that washed through her consciousness. She was happy. It was no longer an abstraction, something to be read about and studied … something over which a Cylon heretofore could only marvel. She was happy.

. . .

"Okay," Starbuck muttered to herself, "instruments are in the green, fuel pressure's nominal … I guess we're ready to do this."

"Captain Apollo … _Galactica_ Actual," D'Anna politely warned, "the blackbird test flight has been cleared to leave the hangar bay. Captain, please confirm that the traffic pattern is clear."

"Dee, this is one for the ages," Adama said. "Put it on speaker, and pipe it throughout the ship."

"Roger, baseship," Apollo replied, "confirming that we are good to go. The only thing that Starbuck can run into out here is … me!"

"Then I suggest, Captain, that you remain alert. Starbuck, this is the Control Room. Landing bay 14 is now open to space. My God grant a fair wind to your sails, and bring you safely home."

The other Cylons in the control room stared openly at D'Anna.

"What," she asked. "It's just something that I read. I like the sound of it. Prayers from the heart are inspiring no matter who writes them."

Starbuck lifted the blackbird off the deck, turned its nose towards space, and tentatively opened the throttle. Not tentatively enough. The blackbird accelerated as if it had been shot out of a gun.

"You have got to be kidding me," Starbuck shrieked. She had cleared the baseship, but she wasn't about to pretend that she had this monster under control. The slightest nudge on the controls sent her careening up, down, sideways.

"Hey! Hey! Come on, Starbuck, take it easy! Take it slow! You're testing the ship, not trying to prove that you're the best pilot in the universe!"

"Can it, Apollo! I am not, repeat not, strutting my stuff out here. _Yee-haw!_ Chief … Naomi … Six … if you can hear me … whoa, boy … wow, what a rush! Chief, I swear, all I have to do is breathe on the controls and this baby moves. It's like it has a mind of its own. Oh, lords … okay … okay … Naomi, what the hell is in that goop that you guys used? It really feels like this ship is _alive_! All right … all right … let's see what our girl can do!" Starbuck opened the throttle, and vanished from Lee's sight.

"Starbuck, this is Apollo, where are you? Do you hear me, Starbuck?" Apollo quickly spun his Viper on its axes. "Baseship, she's gone. I've lost her … repeat … I've lost her!"

"Admiral," Dee reported, "we show nothing on DRADIS!"

"Of course you lost contact," Starbuck chuckled. She turned on her helmet light. The blackbird was nose to nose with Lee's Viper, a few meters of vacuum separating the Mark II from the first hybrid ship in the universe. "Apollo, you idiot, it's a hybrid stealth ship, remember? If this baby doesn't want to be found, I flat out guarantee you that you're not going to find it!"

The CIC erupted in a roar of applause, but in the control room of the baseship the overseers merely looked at one another with quiet satisfaction. Their daughter really was the best pilot in the universe, and their pride in her was immeasurable.

Many decks below, Jammer and the Six hugged while Naomi and Galen danced an impromptu jig. Figurski, ever more practical, headed off in search of the hooch that they had stashed in the Six's personal chamber. He reckoned that they were about to start celebrating with the party to end all parties.

"_We did it,"_ Naomi yelled; _"Galen, we did it!"_

The Chief silently ran his fingers through her hair, and Naomi went very still. She looked at him expectantly.

"Galen," she whispered. And then she leaned forward, closed her eyes, and kissed him. She knew exactly how she wanted this day to end, and she prayed that her Chief wanted exactly the same thing.

. . .

"All hands to attention," Apollo intoned. "We have the admiral of the fleet on deck."

"As you were," Adama ordered.

"Chief Tyrol," Roslin asked, "is this the blackbird?"

"Yes, ma'am," Galen replied. "Madame President, thank you … this is a real honor, for all of us."

"No, Chief," Roslin protested; "the honor's mine. This is truly remarkable."

"With all due respect, ma'am, it's just a ship."

"Oh, no, this is more than a ship, Chief. This is an act of faith. I understand that there's something of every ship in the fleet in the blackbird, and that's a good thing … that's a very, very good thing. It's a hybrid ship, built by human and Cylon hands, with the help of centurions … and that's also a very good thing. This ship is a testament to something very precious … our shared capacity to set aside deeply entrenched hatreds, to offer and accept forgiveness, to reach out and embrace something that we once feared. Not too long ago, one of the Cavils boasted that Cylons were superior to humans because they weren't afraid of change. He was wrong. He hasn't changed at all. But we have … all of us on this deck have changed." Laura looked at Shelly and Bill, standing together, holding hands. "Respect … trust … love … these things now bind us together, and they are far more powerful than the forces that threaten to separate us. We still have a long way to go, I still see too much hate on too many faces in the fleet, but we are getting there. We will overcome every obstacle, and we will find Earth … all of us, together. This I promise you."

"Commander Six," Galen said.

Natalie walked over to Laura Roslin and offered her a bottle of champagne. She beckoned Shelly to join them.

The chief walked up to the nose of the blackbird, and rested his hand on a sheet that covered the forward section of the stealth ship.

"Uh, Madame President … Ambassador … I guess all of us here are pretty much thinking the same thing. When we ask ourselves how we got to this moment, the answer's always the same. The two of you have always had faith in yourselves, and then somehow you discovered that you had faith in each other. We all wanted to do something for both of you, and so, well …"

The chief removed the sheet, and it took but one glance to reduce Laura Roslin to tears. She turned to hug Shelly Godfrey, who fiercely hugged her back. There, emblazoned on the side of the blackbird, was a word that would never appear in any dictionary but would remain forever in their hearts: _Shellaura_.

. . .

"Excuse me, Naomi, but would you mind if I borrowed Mr. Tyrol for a moment?" The party, which had blossomed as the Raptors landed more and more _Galactica_ personnel on the baseship's deck, was still going strong, but Laura knew that her own store of energy would soon run out.

"No, ma'am, not at all," the Eight replied.

Galen offered the President his arm- he could see that she was exhausted- and they walked slowly away from the noisy celebration.

"Chief, there's something about which I'm kind of curious."

"What's that, Madame President?"

"Back on Ragnar Station, you were the person who took responsibility for getting everything onto _Galactica_, weren't you?"

"I guess so, but it was a team effort, Madame President. As you may recall, the clock was running from start to finish. None of us thought that we had much time."

"I understand, Chief. And that is actually what I'm curious about. We didn't have much time, yet you and your people moved everything off the station so efficiently. Did you find an office … paperwork, maybe, that told you where everything was housed?"

"Yes, ma'am, the inventory was up to date, and it told us exactly where to look."

"Interesting. Tell me, Chief, were you at all disappointed? Was there anything vital to our survival that you did not find at Ragnar?"

"No, ma'am. I had a wish list when I stepped off _Galactica_, and everything on my list was there."

"Do you remember the records, Chief? Was there anything about them that struck you as odd at the time?"

Galen frowned as he worked his way through his memories. "Now that you mention it, Madame President, there were a couple of things that at the time really did leap out at me. When Commander Adama first told us that we were jumping to Ragnar to resupply, it really took me by surprise. I thought that the entry in the war book had to be wrong, out of date or something, because Ragnar had been abandoned. The approach was very, very dangerous, and the fleet had long since decided that it wasn't worth the effort that it took to maintain the station. Yet when we got there and I started to look around, it wasn't simply housing a few leftover supplies … the place was crammed, floor to ceiling, and it had everything. And I do mean everything, Madame President. It even had nukes. I guess I probably don't have to tell you that whoever put nukes on an unsupervised and unattended space station was violating enough laws to get you sent to prison for ten lifetimes."

"What about the records themselves, Chief? The actual paper trail?"

"Yeah, yeah … that was another really odd thing. Everything had been brought in over a period of weeks. Let me think … the last three months before the attacks … three and a half, maybe? Yeah, that sounds about right … three and a half months. And here's something else that was really strange. There were a lot of different names on the sheets, but no dates, no military ID … none of the stuff that I would have expected to see there. It was weird … it was really, really weird."

"Galen," Laura asked, and she wondered if he could hear the tension in her voice, "do you remember any of the names?"

"Not really, Madame President … well, except for the one. There was one name that showed up a lot. Marcus Greene."

"_Marcus Greene? _Are you sure, Galen, are you sure that it said 'Marcus Greene'?"

"Yes, ma'am." Tyrol looked curiously at the President. "Does the name mean something to you?"

"Galen, Colonel Marcus Greene was the second ranking officer in the Colonial Secret Service. He was Major Bierns' immediate superior."

"Madame President, I don't understand. Are you suggesting that Ragnar wasn't built up by the fleet … that it was some kind of Colonial Secret Service operation?"

"Yes, Galen, that's exactly what I'm suggesting."

"But Madame President," Tyrol protested, "that doesn't make any sense. I mean, Ragnar had it all … it had everything we would need to hold off the Cylons … _everything, _Madame President, and it had it in quantity. That would mean …"

Roslin remained silent, waiting while the chief sorted it out.

"… that would mean that they knew the Cylons were coming … knew that we were going to take the hit. The spooks were setting us up, getting us ready to fight back."

_No Galen, you're wrong,_ Laura thought. _They weren't positioning us to fight; they were giving us a chance to survive. Marshall Bagot misunderstood. No matter what they thought they were doing, the fleet wasn't actually defending the Colonies. Those brave men and women were luring the Cylons into a trap, cutting their fleet down to size, buying the human race a chance to escape, a chance to start over somewhere else. I was right. This was all planned … me … Galactica … it was all planned. You put Kara on this aging museum piece, didn't you John? Just like Richard sent me out here … Richard, thank you for my life. Thank you._

Laura was trying to take it all in, but the scale of the operation, the sheer audacity of it, was more than she could emotionally comprehend. Richard and John, Harlan … Marcus … _my gods, they must have known not only the date of the attack but the very hour. But how? How could they possibly have known what was coming in that much detail? John! This has something to do with you being tortured, doesn't it? Cottle's report said you all but confessed that it was the Cylons who tortured you. And yet you survived. What happened? They must have learned the truth or you'd be dead. What happened? Why didn't you tell Boomer that you're a hybrid? Why didn't you tell Shelly when your feelings for her are written all over your face? Why have you spent all these months living a lie when this one revelation was enough to get a baseship to change sides? John, what did the four of you do? What is it that you're hiding?_

"Chief, do me a favor. I want you to sit on this, all right? Promise me that you won't breathe a word of this to anyone. I can't tell you why, but Galen … it's important that we keep this to ourselves."

. . .

"So, do the three of us get to kiss the bride?"

Shelly turned, and her eyes lit with joy. John was escorting Lydia on one arm and the Six with no name on the other. "As many times," she said, "as you want!"

"It was a beautiful ceremony," Lydia said, "and thank you so much for asking Sibyl to preside. It was a lovely gesture, and she was deeply moved." The wedding had occurred on _Cloud Nine_, but Shelly had arranged for Sibyl Janks formally to assume the ship's captaincy for the hour or two that the ceremony would entail. It was all somewhat irregular, but her marriage was legal nonetheless.

"She was the first human to see beyond our machine nature—to sense the living, feeling being underneath. She deserved it," Shelly said. "And John, I want to thank you for this day. I couldn't have got here without you."

"That's nonsense, Shelly. You …"

"No, John; this is not the time for platitudes. Galen's little speech was lovely and heartfelt, but we both know that it's not true. We both know that I had hit rock bottom when you found me. I knew that the war was wrong, I knew that I had done the right thing in turning against my own people, but I thought it was because there was something wrong with me … defective programming. I thought I was nothing more than a stupid, frakked up machine, but you refused to let me go down that path. In Bill's quarters, do you remember? You vowed that you would never let me fall—that you or Bill would always be there to catch me. And you were … both of you … just like you promised. You were there for me, for Lydia, for Six … you gave us all a chance to make something of our lives."

"And each of you seized the chance and you ran with it," John protested. "Shelly, I had faith in you because I had seen it all before. Genocide troubled a lot of Cylons, your model most of all. But you're special; you've always been special. From the outset I sensed a degree of determination in you that I had observed in only one other Six. You were hungry for more. You somehow knew that you could grow beyond the limitations that others had programmed into you. You never would have quit, Shelly, because there's something inside of you that keeps pushing you on. You earned this day … you got here on your own."

The three Sixes looked at one another. "We've been such lousy parents," Lydia sighed; "you and Kara both deserve so much better."

John stared at her blankly.

"Kara and I got really, really drunk one night," the Six with no name confessed. "She didn't tell me everything, but she told me enough. I still don't understand how the Cavils could have been so cruel. Maybe I'll never understand." The Six shook her head, wondering yet again how she had failed to sense the malevolence that lay at the core of John Cavil's being.

"John," she went on, "did you love her? Mara, I mean. Did you love her? Did she make you happy?"

"Yes," he softly replied in a voice heavily laden with memory, "yes. I loved her, and for a time we were very happy. It was good to learn that she loved me in return."

"I'm glad," Lydia said. "I'm glad that you found love, and that it was with one of our sisters."

"John, I want you to promise me something," Shelly added. "I want you to promise me that you won't lose hope. Natalie is very determined. If our people are out there, we're going to find them and bring them home. We'll bring Mara home to you. All of us badly want to give the two of you the same chance at life that you've given us."

. . .

"Major, would you care to share a drink with me?" Laura Roslin had two glasses of champagne in her hands. John had wandered away from the party, and Laura had set off in pursuit.

"Madame President," John said, "I would be honored to toast the bride and groom with you."

After they had finished, Laura looked pensively at the hybrid.

"I'm happy for Bill and Shelly both," Laura said, "but this day must be very, very special for you. Every time that a human and a Cylon reach out to one another, you must consider it another victory in a war that at times feels like it's going to go on forever."

John nodded, but only partially in agreement. "The war will end, Madame President, and it will end decisively. Somebody's going to win and somebody's going to lose … though it almost goes without saying that you and I may still define victory and defeat in rather different ways."

Now it was Laura's turn to nod. "Yes, at one time that would certainly have been the case. But not anymore. A lot of us have grown up in these last weeks. I've come to appreciate that you and I were never really fighting the same war … that yours has been going on for a very long time. However, I think that both of us are now on the same page."

Laura turned so that she could take in the festivities that, in the distance, were still in full swing. "John, I know that you and Richard were very close. Did he tell you that we were lovers?"

"No, Madame President, Richard would never have been so indiscreet. But we all knew." John grinned. "The two of you weren't particularly good at keeping secrets."

"And yet in all that time he never even hinted that the human race was living in the shadow of death. I knew that something was wrong … I pressed him about it on more than one occasion … but he always honored whatever pact the four of you had made."

"The four of us, Madame President?"

"Yes. You, Richard, Harlan and Marcus. Don't try to deny it, John. You left your fingerprints all over Ragnar Station."

John chuckled, and looked admiringly at Laura Roslin. "So, you figured that one out, did you?"

"There were too many things that didn't add up. I kept asking myself why you never told Boomer who you really were. She was so troubled, and you could have saved her so easily. And then I started mentally reviewing those last months. You were such a fixture in Richard's office … we all talked about it. None of us knew what you and Richard were up to, but we were all pretty sure that something damned serious was going on. And then one day you weren't there anymore. You vanished. It was like you'd fallen right off the face of Caprica. But that's when it happened, isn't it John? The missing month, that's when the Cylons took you, isn't it? That's when they tortured you."

"I underestimated you," John responded, his tone very flat and distant. His eyes began rapidly to scan the perimeter. _If this has to be done, I'll have to move quickly._ "Have you told anyone else?"

Laura Roslin felt death standing at her shoulder. She should have been scared, but in a perverse way the cancer had set her free. "No, and I don't intend to … not Bill, not anybody else. This is between the two of us, and we have to decide what we're going to do right here and now."

John studied her, silently debating his next step. "Go on," he finally said.

"John, when you told Natalie and Marshall Bagot that the CSS had known about the Cylons for years, it had to be either a mistake or another calculated step in whatever convoluted game you're playing. I presumed the latter, and I've been waiting for you to make your next move, but you haven't. The news is all over the fleet, and it's not going down well. People are now as distrustful of the government as they are the military, and Tom Zarek is having a field day. John, there are going to be elections in a few months, and the way things are going Zarek will win in a landslide. Do you want that bastard to become the next president? I need you to get on with it. Whatever it is that you've set in motion, it needs to play out sooner rather than later."

"Madame President, you should be careful what you ask for. The last thing on Caprica that you need right now is for the people to learn the truth."

"Look, I can't afford to be ambushed. You have got to tell me what's lurking out there in the weeds."

"Ask Adama. Ask him about his last mission with the _Valkyrie_."

"No. It will take him less than two seconds to figure out how I tumbled onto him. I'm asking you."

"All right, Laura. You want it, here it is. The Cylons didn't violate the Cimtar Accords, we did. Six years before the attacks, a rogue element at the highest reaches of the Admiralty began deliberately and systematically to violate the Armistice Line. Adama ran one of Corman's black ops, only it blew up in his face, spectacularly so. The Cylons captured one of his pilots, and for all I know they've still got him." John snorted. "You want to keep secrets, Laura? Then you'd better pray that Daniel Novacek never comes back from the dead. Richard asked me to clean up the mess, no questions asked, but I was still mucking out the stables when the first Cylon infiltrators arrived on the scene. Is it a coincidence that they began to show up within two months of Novacek crossing the Line? Laura, I grant you that the Cavils had been planning a holocaust for decades, but what I said at the press conference was true—trying to sell it to some of the other models was strictly an uphill battle. Maybe the war was inevitable, but then again maybe not; all I know for sure is that the frakking Admiralty played right into John Cavil's hands."

"Those stupid, frakked up bastards." Laura never even thought to question what John was telling her. It all made too damned much sense. "Gods almighty, we handed the Cylons an engraved invitation to slaughter us. We're the warmongers. No wonder Richard seemed so desperate." She studied John closely. "Now, take me to Ragnar. Fill in the blanks."

"Harlan put together a very long-term operation designed to get me onto a cylon baseship. There seemed to be a lot of dissension in their ranks. The Cavils kept killing their own agents, and some of the conversations that we recorded made it pretty clear that a lot of Sixes in particular were opposed to what they called 'the plan'. We couldn't be sure because no one ever came right out and actually said it, but since these reports were coming in from every planet in the Colonies it sure smelled like genocide was in the works. The operation was a success. I went in as a presidential envoy, but the Cylons weren't interested. They tortured me, and just as we planned, they stumbled upon the truth. One bloodbath later, I had four thousand Twos, Threes, Sixes and Eights laying out 'the plan' in chapter and verse. They defected en masse, and working together we designed a way for humanity to survive. We attacked the problem from both ends. The CSS would stash supplies in places like Ragnar, and on the day of the holocaust our friends would clear a large volume of colonial space and throw a safety net over it for as long as they possibly could. We tried to steer as many FTL equipped ships into that zone as we could find—and you and Boomer did a magnificent job, Laura. Gods, but you were great. Even so, it all came down to Adama. We had stacked the deck. _Galactica_ had a commander with a notorious phobia for networked computers, so the ship would certainly survive the virus that the Cylons initially threw at the fleet. But there was nothing on _Galactica_ for him to shoot with, and Ragnar and another depot in the asteroid field that we had similarly supplied were both sitting in his war book, all plump and juicy. Everybody who survived would have to converge on one or the other, but the X factor was always Adama himself. I don't know what you did or said that convinced him to abandon the fight, Laura, but that was the key. The civilian fleet couldn't survive without a battlestar to protect it. Adama, or somebody like Adama, had to buy time for our Cylon agents to take Cavil down from within."

"_What? What did you just say?"_

John Bierns simply laughed. "Come now, Madame President, you must have heard the rumors … that the Cylons had penetrated the CSS? They were all true … well, almost true. Richard, Harlan … the four of us knew that we were going to lose the battle, but we were intent upon winning the war. Humanity couldn't survive without cylon help, and in return for it we promised the rebels that we would do everything in our power to assimilate them into the human community. That's the deal, and I was only too happy to swear to Richard and Harlan that I would do everything I could to pull it off. But the war goes on, and right now it looks like the Cavils are getting desperate. I suspect that a certain Six of my acquaintance has been very busy of late."

Roslin threw her hands into the air in resignation. "So what the hell am I supposed to do now? Should we throw another press conference, and have you shatter everybody's illusions once and for all? Do the Cylons in this fleet have any idea what's going on, never mind the humans?"

"Reun knows it all, and Kara knows bits and pieces. Madame President, it's important that we keep it that way. Surely you must realize that at heart the Cylons are good people. Please give them a chance to win the fleet's respect and trust, even if it comes partially at the expense of the military and the government in general and the public fortunes of one Bill Adama and Laura Roslin in particular. You're doing the right thing; just have confidence in your own judgment, and stay the course."

"And Zarek?"

"His political base seems to be firmly rooted in the very ships that Natalie and her centurions most want to help. Ships like _Monarch_ and _Majahual_. Be creative, Madame President … stack the deck yourself. Find ways to help Natalie win over hearts and minds. Promise the miners, sewage recyclers and other 'oppressed' groups some tangible help—oh, and offer them leave time on _Cloud Nine_ once they've trained some Cylons and centurions to do their jobs. Blackbird need only be the tip of the iceberg here."

. . .

"So did you have a chance to ask him?" Sibyl looked anxiously at Lydia. It had taken time to bring her Cylon wife around, but now that they were both comfortable with the idea she was eager to get started.

"No! I haven't been able to pull him off into a corner for a quiet heart to heart chat. Why does this have to be so darned difficult?"

"What are you two conspiring about?" Startled, Lydia looked up to see Creusa and Apollo standing a few feet away. They had four glasses of champagne in their hands, and clearly wanted to share a drink. Creusa had just as clearly been eavesdropping.

"Sister, it's something that we want to ask John. It's a big favor, so we want to talk with him in private. If he turns us down, we'll have to come up with a new plan."

"Can we do anything to help," Apollo asked.

Sibyl Janks roared with laughter, looked at Lydia, and roared some more. "Thank you, Captain; you'd actually be ideal for what we have in mind … but no, I don't think that you can help us!"

"Well, let me know if you decide that you need my help after all. Right now, though, how about toasting Shelly and my dad? That was a beautiful ceremony. They're both really happy."

Sibyl and Lydia graciously accepted the champagne, and Sibyl raised her glass into the air. "To the bride and groom," she intoned. "May their days be free of care, and their nights filled with love."

Creusa took a healthy sip of the champagne, and gagged. She turned aside, walked two steps, and then she bent over and began violently to throw up.

"_Creusa,"_ Lee yelled as Lydia raced to her sister's side. "Creusa, this can't go on," Lee said as he gently massaged her back. All four champagne glasses lay forgotten on the elegant grass carpet. "It's been three days now, and you're not getting any better."

"Lee, don't be silly," Creusa wheezed. "Cylons don't catch the flu or get food poisoning. I must have picked something up down on Kobol and brought it back with me."

"But that was almost two months ago," Apollo protested. "No more arguments. I'm taking you to see Doc Cottle in the morning!"


	17. Chapter 17: Pink and Blue

CHAPTER 17

PINK AND BLUE

"So, young lady, what seems to be the problem?" Sherman Cottle was standing over Creusa and studying her. He thought that the Cylon looked a bit on the pale side, but he wasn't at all sure what constituted a healthy complexion in a Six.

"I'm not able to keep anything down," Creusa admitted.

"Doc, she threw up again this morning," Apollo said. "It doesn't matter what she eats or drinks; day or night, it all comes right back up. This has been going on for days."

Cottle stole a quick glance at Layne Ishay. He knew his lead nurse well enough to know that she was struggling to control her laughter. Neither of them expected Creusa to know what was going on, but both of them had a hard time believing that Lee Adama could have reached the prime of his manhood and still not know the facts of life.

"And how many days are we talking about here?" Cottle had reached for a blank chart; he already knew that he was going to be seeing a lot of this particular Cylon in the weeks and months ahead.

"Four," she said.

"Well, let's review your diet. Are you getting plenty of fiber? Eating lots of fruit and leafy vegetables?"

"Yes. I eat very little meat. I like cheese and fruit."

"How about alcohol and caffeine?"

Creusa smiled, and shifted her weight on the hospital bed. "I drink a lot of tea, and I do enjoy wine. I really like champagne!"

Cottle nodded while he continued taking notes. "Okay," he said, "here's what we're gonna do. I'm going to record all of your vitals, Ishay will draw some blood, and then I want you to go behind that screen over there and give me a urine sample. I'll take a quick look at your blood while Ishay does a toxicology screening. Just be patient, and we'll sort this out. I'm pretty sure that we'll have you back on your feet in no time."

"Thank you, Doctor … thank you, Ishay," Creusa said politely.

"Thanks, Doc," Apollo added. "You're a lifesaver."

"Just doing my job," Cottle gruffly replied. "Ishay, in addition to the basics I want you to run an hCG screen."

"Yes, sir," the nurse replied. She turned to look at Apollo. "You might want to pull up a chair, Captain," she said with a smile; "this is going to take a while."

Forty five minutes later, Cottle and Ishay returned. They had both been through this particular ritual on so many occasions that they had lost count. Still, it was always one of the most satisfying moments in a doctor or nurse's day.

"Son, why don't you come over here and stand beside the young lady," Cottle suggested.

Apollo promptly got to his feet and moved to Creusa's side. He reached out to take her hand, and they both looked at Cottle expectantly.

"Okay … well … we've isolated the cause of Creusa's symptoms. Young lady, I'm afraid that you can look forward to several more weeks of intermittent or even continuous nausea and vomiting. Congratulations, you two … you're going to have a baby."

"_What,"_ they both exclaimed more or less simultaneously. Creusa's fist flew to her mouth while Lee suddenly started waving a hand at invisible cobwebs hanging in front of his face.

"_I'm pregnant?"_

"That's right," Cottle replied. "If we use Sharon Agathon's history of morning sickness as a yardstick, I'd say that you're about two and a half to three weeks pregnant. It could be later … in a human female we would expect these symptoms to set in around the fifth week, but you Cylon women don't seem to do anything by half measures."

"Why … why am I so sick? I don't understand what's happening to me!"

"Creusa," Ishay calmly explained, "your body has shut off your immune system in order to make sure that it doesn't reject the embryo. The morning sickness is actually a good sign. It's your body's way of protecting you and the baby against trace amounts of toxins in the food that you're ingesting. Did you know that plants generate toxins in order to protect themselves against insects and disease? No? Well, right now, all this misery is actually your front line of defense. The morning sickness should begin to pass when your body decides that your immune system is ready to take on the job of protecting both you and the baby."

"Compared with the readings that Ishay took during your surgery," Cottle added, "your estrogen levels, along with those of several other hormones, are also quite elevated. In a human this normally results in unpredictable mood swings as well as morning sickness. Sharon has been handling these surges quite well, but I suspect that this results largely from Lieutenant Agathon being so supportive. Apollo, you might want to get some advice from the lieutenant because your number one job for the next nine months is to be there for Creusa whenever she needs you. And she's going to need you a lot. Keep her calm, keep her happy, and you'll both get through this together. As for you, young woman, you can help your body cope by limiting the amount of caffeine that you drink, and for the next eight and a half months or so, alcohol is an absolute no-no. Not even in small quantities … are we clear about this, Creusa?"

"Yes, Doctor," the Cylon obediently replied. Suddenly, she squeezed Lee's hand.

"Lee? Lee … say something!"

"I need a drink," Apollo whispered. He had given up his epic battle with the invisible cobwebs, and had settled into good, old-fashioned shock.

Cottle frowned. "Captain, this is the point where the young man generally takes the young woman in his arms, says _'ya-hoo'_ or the like, tells her how much he loves her, and goes on to add that this is the happiest day of his life."

"We also expect to see a wide and very stupid grin," Ishay noted with her usual straight face.

"Lee," Creusa said nervously, "Lee, is something the matter? Don't you want to have our baby? _Lee?_"

"A baby," Apollo whispered. He could barely manage the words. Lee blinked several times in succession, and then looked around him; he resembled nothing so much as a man trapped inside dense fog. "How the frak can anyone expect me to be a father," he blurted out. "There are days when I can barely tie my shoes. Gods! A baby."

"_Lee!"_ Creusa rolled off the bed and started to run blindly toward the hangar deck. Lee didn't move; he was only viscerally aware that she had even bolted.

"_Creusa,"_ Cottle barked as he hastened out into the hallway after her, _"get the hell back in here!"_

"I'll try and bring her back, sir," Ishay said, and then she was also racing down the corridor.

Cottle whirled on Lee; he was absolutely furious. "Captain, I have seen a lot of men do a lot of stupid things at this particular moment- it's expected- but your performance was in a class by itself. I sincerely hope that you're prepared to spend a lot of time on your knees begging for her forgiveness, because what you just did to that young woman borders on the unforgiveable. You've just ruined what should have been the happiest day of both of your lives. I don't know what your problem is," he roared, "but get the frak out of my sickbay and don't come back until you've found a way to get your head out of your ass!"

Creusa ran across the deck and up the ramp into the waiting Heavy Raider. The Six and the Sharon who had ferried her over an hour earlier looked at their sister with alarm that bordered on shock. She was wearing nothing but a flimsy, ill-tied hospital gown.

"I'm pregnant," she said to no one in particular, _"and Lee doesn't want the baby!"_ Take me home," she cried, "take me home!"

A look passed over the Sharon's face that would have frozen a lava flow. She punched a button to retract the ramp, and headed for the cockpit. In less than a minute, the Heavy Raider began its return flight to the Cylon baseship. . . .

"I couldn't catch her, sir." Ishay was still panting for breath. "One more thing that we can add to the catalog is that Cylons are fast on their feet … even the pregnant ones." Ishay shook her head and looked at Cottle curiously. "Elevated estrogen, did you say?"

Cottle didn't bother answering; instead, he lit a cigarette and took a long drag, pulling the smoke deep into his lungs. Then he looked at Ishay through narrowed eyes.

"Nurse, you have the deck," he said as he started to leave.

"Where are you going, Doctor?" Ishay was shocked. Doc Cottle _never_ left his perch for anything short of the direst of emergencies.

"To see Adama," he yelled back. I just hope that the father has more sense than the son!"

. . .

No one knew it yet, but Captain Lee Adama's seemingly aimless and narcoleptic _Wanderung_ up and down the crowded corridors of the ancient battlestar _Galactica_ was destined to occupy a storied if rather dubious place in the often wildly inaccurate but still steadily growing annalistic history of the fleet. The captain shuffled along in a fugue like state that was marked by a continuous if somewhat disjointed rambling about babies and his own egregious lack of qualifications for fatherhood. He was oblivious to the stares of his many ship mates, and the fog did not begin to part until he found himself outside the hatch of one Lieutenant Karl Agathon. He pounded on the door, demanding admission. He was wholly unaware of the small crowd of the curious and the concerned that had slowly gathered behind him, and he was no more aware of happenings on the other side of the hatch. There Sharon and Karl Agathon, reveling in that rarity of rarities on the battlestar _Galactica_- a day to themselves- were more than a little upset when their pleasurable morning romp was so rudely interrupted.

"Hey man, what's up?" Karl had just opened the hatch, and he was still in the awkward process of trying to put on his trousers.

Lee somehow slipped past Karl and entered the Agathons' quarters. Although Sharon was still scrambling to don her own clothing, and was revealing rather more flesh than the captain was entitled to see, Lee Adama did not even acknowledge her presence.

"We're pregnant," he said. "How in the name of the gods did this happen?"

"_What?"_ The disbelief in Sharon's voice was in perfect harmony with the stunned expression that had settled on her face. "What do you mean … how did this happen? What the frak do you think happens when you repeatedly have sex with someone who's not getting anti-fertility injections?"

"Hey, congratulations man." Karl meant it, and he reached out to shake Apollo's hand.

Lee stared numbly at the proffered hand. "I need a drink," he said; "I need a really big drink."

"That's understandable," Helo sympathetically observed; he opened a locker, and hauled out a bottle of aged whiskey and three glasses. Then, remembering Sharon's own ever advancing condition, he hastily returned one of them to the shelf.

"So, where's Creusa?" Sharon had finally succeeded in buttoning her blouse.

"I don't know," Apollo replied. "I think she left without me. When Doc Cottle gave us the news, she ran out of sickbay. I don't think she had any clothes on." This last came out in a tone that one might normally associate with polite inquiries about the weather.

"_What?"_ As her vocabulary fell off to monosyllables, Sharon Agathon began actively to wonder whether her own pregnancy was melting some of the silica pathways in her brain. It's either that, she thought, or idiocy is contagious.

"Uh, Apollo … don't you think that you ought to go after her?" Karl Agathon was far too polite simply to throw Lee Adama out of his quarters, but he thought that Sharon might well be up to it.

"Not until I've had a drink," Lee responded in a machinelike tone that would have turned John Cavil green with envy. "A really big drink."

Lieutenant Karl Agathon started pouring.

. . .

"Major, what brings you to the CIC this early in the day?" Admiral Adama was both alarmed and curious. Sherman Cottle rarely left his kingdom, and on those rare occasions when he did venture into the CIC he was typically not the bearer of glad tidings.

"Admiral … Colonel." Although he was the junior officer present, it never occurred to Doc Cottle to salute. There were certain things that were just not done, and doctors saluting their fellow officers, regardless of rank … that was one of them.

"Admiral," Cottle said, "why don't you ask your wife to join us?"

His curiosity and alarm now doubled, Adama strolled over to the navigation console. The admiral had banished Felix Gaeta to Baltar's lab. He was convinced that Baltar and Leoben were engaged upon the single most important project in the fleet, but constant exposure to the Two's never ending weirdness had opened or perhaps revealed preexisting and quite gigantic cracks in the scientist's psyche. Adama had received reports from all over the ship that the doctor was wandering about with an imaginary friend in tow. Everyone, he thought, was entitled to talk to someone who wasn't there every now and again, but apparently Baltar and his invisible companion were at it all day long. Gaius Baltar had never struck Adama as a stable personality to begin with, and now he seemed to be on the verge of a full-blown nervous breakdown. Adama had accordingly sent Gaeta along to buy the scientist some much needed down time. He considered it a good sign that Baltar had attached himself to the pilots and their permanent, floating Triad game.

Cottle looked at the two Adamas. "I have good news and bad news," he said without preamble. "The good news is that you're going to be grandparents. Excuse me, Shelly," Sherman coughed, "I guess that you're going to be … oh, hell, I don't know exactly what you're going to be. Anyway, Creusa's pregnant … at a guess, maybe three weeks along. So, congratulations to you both."

"_Bill!"_ CIC or no CIC, Shelly Adama wrapped her arms around her husband and hugged him close. "A baby! Can you believe it? Lee and Creusa may have beaten us to it," she laughed.

"Bill, I'll be damned," Saul said. "Congratulations." Tigh reached out to shake Adama's hand, and then he whirled rapidly around to take in the whole CIC. "Hey, everybody, listen up," the XO ordered. "The Old Man's going to be a grandpa! Lee's gone and done it. Creusa's in a family way!"

The CIC erupted in cheers, and everyone got to their feet and applauded.

"Thank you," Adama called out, "thank you all." Bill turned back to face Cottle. "Sherman, you also mentioned bad news."

"Yeah. Bill, I've seen some idiots in my day, but this morning your son carved out a new place in the record books. Lee didn't hug Creusa, he didn't tell her how much he loved her … the idiot didn't do one thing that he's supposed to do in this situation. The poor girl charged out of sickbay … look, her hormones are running wild right now anyway, and then Lee goes and gives her five more reasons to be distraught. She climbed on her ship and went right back to the basestar, where I would imagine humans are going to become less and less popular as the day wears on. Bill, I need you to get over there fast. I want you to find Creusa, sit her down, put your arm around her, and tell her that she's family and that she's always going to be family. She needs somebody named Adama to cheer her up and convince her that she hasn't been making the biggest mistake a woman can possibly make with her life."

"Typical Lee," Adama said in disgust. "Sherman, I'm on it. Colonel Tigh, I stand relieved. Dee, notify the hangar deck that I want a Raptor prepped and ready to go in five minutes. Shelly, why don't you see if you can track down Lee and find out what's going on. Try and talk some sense into him. Hell, if it comes to it, beat some sense into him!"

Bill and Sherman stormed out of the CIC together, and then Adama stopped in his tracks. He reached out to stay Cottle, and then he turned around and looked back at Shelly. "What did you mean … '_may_ have beaten us to it'?"

Shelly smiled knowingly, and then she walked over and whispered in his ear. "Bill, I didn't want to say anything until I'd had a chance to slip away for a quiet chat with the Doctor here, because this could be much ado about nothing. But as you well know we Cylon females also have periods, and I've missed mine. I'm badly overdue." Shelly sighed as she stepped back. "Unfortunately, this has happened before. I've always been irregular. So, I didn't want to say anything until I found out for sure."

"_Shelly,"_ he breathed as he lovingly caressed her cheek. And then he grabbed her by the wrist and guided her over to the major.

"Doctor," he ordered, "please escort my wife down to sickbay and perform whatever tests you usually perform in a situation like this. She'll explain what I mean. But I don't want you to say one word to her or anyone else until I get back. Either way, I want to be there for her."

. . .

The second stop on Lee Adama's epic odyssey was pilot country, and the round the clock triad game that only ground to a halt when Adama was forced to put every bird in the air. It was at such moments that certain pilots really hated Commander, now Admiral Adama. They were the ones holding the winning hands. But for his increasingly inebriated son, the triad game meant ambrosia, and another really big drink.

Lee Adama stumbled into the room and more or less fell into an empty chair. Duck, Ponytail, Dragon and Easy were currently entertaining Doctor Gaius Baltar. In the accustomed manner of all things inevitable, the Vice-President had just pulled down another big pot with his prince high red.

"I need a drink," Lee Adama said. "A really big drink."

Ponytail reached behind her for a half-full bottle of ambrosia and a glass. She sat them both on the table, but Apollo ignored the glass. He picked up the bottle, and let the iridescent green liquor run down his throat. By some miracle, which only proved to observant witnesses that the gods really do have a soft spot in their collective hearts for complete idiots, most of it actually ended up _inside _his throat.

"So, what's up Apollo?" Lieutenant Tucker "Duck" Clelland wasn't really sure that he wanted to know.

"We're pregnant," Apollo belched. "Bun in the oven … you know (hiccough) … pregnant."

"Congratulations, Captain!" Baltar fumbled about in his jacket pockets. "Here, have a cigar." The amiable Vice-President (he was, after all, winning) obligingly lit the cheroot and more or less shoved it into Lee's mouth. Lee took an instinctive drag on the weed, turned green, got up, fell over his chair—and promptly threw up. When he was finished, he staggered to his feet, stumbled out the door, and shuffled off on the next leg of his unfolding adventure.

. . .

Bill Adama strode purposefully down the ramp and walked straight up to the first Cylon in sight.

"Good morning, Admiral." There was a distinct chill in the Sharon's voice. "Welcome aboard."

"Thank you. Now, where's my daughter?"

"I don't understand, Admiral. You don't have a daughter."

"Eight, don't fence with me. Where's Creusa?"

Sharon looked at him strangely before she finally nodded to herself. "I'll take you to her." She turned and set off deeper into the ship.

They traversed decks and corridors, and made so many twists and turns that Bill gave up all hope of ever getting back to his Raptor without a guide. But eventually they arrived at the correct chamber. The admiral paused for a moment in the doorway. Creusa was sitting cross legged on the bed, with a knot of Cylons gathered around her. The Sixes and Eights had turned out in full force, but he was pleased to discover that he could recognize Natalie and Sonja without any difficulty at all.

He walked up to the bed. The admiral was expecting a chilly reception, so the range of hostile looks that awaited him didn't bother him in the least. "Please give us the room," he said; "I want to have some time alone with my daughter."

Creusa looked up at Bill, hope written all over her face, and the tension in the room dramatically thawed. The Cylons began to file out, but several of them made it no farther than the doorway. They were all curious as to what would happen next.

Creusa was rubbing her stomach, her hand moving in slow circles. Bill set down on the bed, and wrapped his arm around her. He rested his free hand on top of hers, and brought the swirling motion to a halt.

"I've always thought it the one true miracle in the universe," Bill said, "and it's the only thing that has ever caused me to envy women. The knowledge that there's life growing inside of you … that you can reach down with your hand and caress it … the feeling must be indescribable. And when the baby starts kicking …"

Bill smiled. "I remember when Carolanne was pregnant with Lee. I happened to be at home the first time the baby kicked. I put my hand on her stomach, and Lee didn't like that at all. He began to kick even harder. It was wonderful … it was one of the happiest moments of my entire life. It was one of the few times when I was ready to concede that there really is a God at work in the universe, and that this is all part of some wonderful plan. That was the moment when it really hit me that I was going to be a father. Up until that moment it had all seemed a bit surreal, but when Lee started kicking, I knew that that was my son or daughter who was making a fuss. We didn't ask, by the way … we wanted it to come as a surprise. Anyway, it was in that moment that I fell in love all over again. I loved Carolanne, I loved the baby … love seemed to carry with it nothing but infinite possibility."

Creusa turned slightly so that she could rest her head on Bill's shoulder. For her he was a soothing presence, and Adama welcomed the gesture because of all that it said about the trust that was blossoming between them. His long life had had its fair share of ups and downs, but there was little to compare with bringing a new and treasured person into his family.

"I'm so proud of you," Bill went on, "and even though he's behaving a bit foolishly right now, I'm very proud of Lee as well. He never tried to deny his feelings for you, never tried to explain them away. He accepted them as he has accepted you. He loves you, Creusa … he loves this intelligent, beautiful, strong and heroic young woman … and he loves you a lot more than he loves himself. You need to know … that's what this is all about. I wasn't a very good father, my dad wasn't a very good father, and Lee is plagued with doubts about himself. He wonders if all Adama men are cursed. He's over there on _Galactica_ right now, probably getting drunk, and he's thinking that he's unworthy of you and will be a disappointing father to his child. He's terribly afraid that at some point you'll see what he thinks is the real Lee Adama, and that he'll register all that disappointment in your eyes. He's scared, Creusa, and what he's going through right now is really not all that uncommon. So, please, be patient with him. At some point he's going to crawl back over here with his tail dragging between his legs. He's going to be embarrassed and ashamed, so try and avoid kicking him when he's already down. Or at least," Adama chuckled, "don't kick him too hard!"

Creusa smiled into his shoulder. "It never occurred to me that I might have to raise two babies," she protested.

"Yeah," Adama said as he kissed her on the top of her head, "it seems like a woman's work is never done."

"I feel like a dam has broken inside of me," Creusa confessed. "I feel so strange … like I want to run as fast as I can, but in two different directions simultaneously. And Lee … I want to kiss him and strangle him. No, that's not quite right … I want to kiss him while I'm strangling him."

Adama laughed. "Female hormones … they're every man's worst nightmare. Creusa, there are going to be days when Lee will take one look at you and decide that he'd have a better chance of surviving if he were to go up against ten Raiders without a wingman! But don't let it worry you. I know my son. Once he gets over the shock, he'll come home and he'll try his best. I can't say that he'll be the greatest husband and father ever, but he'll try because he loves you. I think he's spent a lifetime waiting for you to come along."

Bill rested his head in Creusa's hair. "And I love you. You're my daughter now, and that will never change. I hope that in time you'll come to think of me as your father, and that you'll have no objection to allowing me to exercise a grandfather's prerogative and occasionally babysit my grandchild—whom I fully intend to spoil rotten."

"Of course," Creusa replied; "we're all family now."

"That's right … only our family may be growing faster than any of us ever thought would happen."

Creusa lifted her head and looked at him, the question obvious in her eyes.

"Come," Bill said as he stood up, "walk me to my Raptor. I need to get back to _Galactica_ on the double. Shelly's in with Doc Cottle right now, and I made him promise that he wouldn't say a word until I returned. But by now she must be on pins and needles."

"Admiral?"

"Shelly's missed her period, Creusa. She says that it's happened before, so I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but it's hard. We both want children so badly."

. . .

Lee Adama was moving on automatic now, and like a homing pigeon his unthinking steps were carrying him closer and closer to his old rack. It held no interest for him, but there was a locker there someplace that held all of the admittedly few possessions that he had accumulated in his time on the ship. He wanted to gather up all of his belongings because somewhere along the way in this epic journey a great idea had managed to burrow itself into his booze besotted brain.

It was when he was sorting through his stuff that Giana O'Neill and the Six with no name finally caught up with him. The Six had put out the call for Brandy Harder to come join them, but she wasn't surprised when Brandy arrived with Shelly Adama in tow. This was women's work, after all, and the four of them had become a pretty tightly knit group.

The Six stopped just inside the hatchway and leaned against the frame. She crossed her arms and studied Lee Adama. This was by no means the first time that she had seen him drunk, but he looked about as lost as a human being could possibly get—and her experience as a hooker in the Colonies had taught her that that was plenty lost indeed.

"Lee," she said, "it's still early yet, but we hear that you've already had quite a day."

"Six!" Apollo looked at her through bleary eyes. "Whazzuh happening?"

"Oh, we just came by to see if you needed any help … you know … standing erect, remembering your name, remembering where you are … remembering that you've gotten one of my sisters pregnant. Word has it that you're not very happy about the baby, which kind of means that none of us are very happy with you right now."

"Huh, swhat talkin' bout? I love Creusa … I love the baby." Apollo paused, swayed a bit, and then went back to emptying his locker. "I'm gonna be a daddy," he giggled; "course I won't be a very good daddy cause I'm asshole just like good ole papa and granpa." Lee giggled some more. "Did you know the best of the Adamas was great uncle Sammy—and he was a top Ha'la'tha hit man. Yup, they didn't come any better than great uncle Sammy. He'd cut your throat, but he'd always leave a cubit for the ferryman!"

Six rolled her eyes in disgust, shook her head, and looked over at Shelly. Six had no idea what they were supposed to do, unless it was to keep Lee from adding still more foolishness to the imposing mound of idiocy that he had already managed to erect this day. The Six had a soft spot for Apollo, and it was beginning to dawn on her that this human might soon become her brother-in-law … if, of course, Creusa didn't kill him first.

"Lee, what are you doing here," Shelly asked. "Can we help?"

"Gotta sell some stuff, Shelly. This suit's gotta go. It's black. Don't know why, but Creusa gets real upset around black. So, it's gotta go. Reminds me … gotta ask her if gray's okay. Maybe I can find sumthun in gray (burp). Scuse me."

Apollo continued to rummage around in his belongings, trying to figure out if he had anything of value.

"I wanna haul my stuff over to the _Pro … Prom … metheus_. I wanna trade it all for things for the baby … you know, diapers and stuff. The baby's gonna need lots of diapers, and some of those cute outfits … you know the ones I mean … the pink and blue ones with all the frills? I'm hopin' for a girl cause I like pink … I like lil baby girls. Never had a sister, but maybe I'll get lucky and have a lil girl. Juss so long as baby's healthy, though, I'll be happy. I juss want Creusa and the baby to be okay … all that matters, really … Creusa and the baby."

"Oh, Lee." Giana had come here to claim a piece of Apollo's ass, and he had just gone and melted her heart.

Brandy Harder looked at the others and raised her arms, the palms of her hands turned up. In one setting it could be taken as a gesture of surrender, but among any group of women it was universal code that, roughly translated, meant _men: what are we supposed to do with them?_ One of the many things that Cylon and human women shared was a conviction that most males, regardless of species, were basically worthless. Every once in a while, however, one of these irritating miscreants would go and do something that undermined the paradigm. Every once in a while one of them would do something that was unrehearsed … would have an unguarded moment that allowed the reservoir of goodness at the core of his being to be measured in full … and for a season this one act would banish all doubt. This was one of those moments.

"Well," Six said, "we can't let him go over there alone. In his present condition, those sharks will eat him alive. So let's get this stuff packed up and go find some transport. Shelly, Giana and I both know the _Prometheus_ quite well, and I have enough credit built up over there to get Lee whatever he wants, so we can take it from here."

"Good," Shelly said with relief, "because I can't leave the ship. I'm waiting for Bill to get back, and then we both have an appointment with Doctor Cottle. Giana, do me a favor will you? Lay your hands on as many diapers as you can find, and keep an eye out for baby powder, lotions, creams—try and get Lee to think in terms of a layette and not just a few cute outfits. But if you do find something for a newborn in pink that's really adorable, get it for me, will you? I'll find a way to pay you back later."

"Madame Ambassador," Sergeant Harder exclaimed, "are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Oh, nothing's certain just yet, so please don't say anything to anybody, but Doctor Cottle will have the test results ready for us when Bill returns."

. . .

The disconsolate look on Sherman Cottle's face said it all.

"Admiral, Madame Ambassador … I'm sorry, but the test results came back negative."

Bill took Shelly in his arms, and kissed her tenderly. "It's okay. One of the nice things about being married to the woman you love is that you get to keep on trying. You never give up hope …"

"… because God rewards love," Shelly said with a brave face. "God wants us to succeed."

"In that case," Bill remarked, "we'll probably have a whole lot of children because I love you, Mrs. Adama … now and forever more."

Cottle sighed with regret. "Admiral, I wish the two of you had been in here this morning. Lee would have been exposed to a pair of very good teachers."

"Shelly," Cottle went on, "does your body let you know when you're ovulating?"

"There are probably slight temperature variations," she answered, "but I haven't been tracking them."

"I want you to start. Take your temperature vaginally when you wake up. Do it every morning, first thing. Literally, you do this before you get out of bed. Record every reading so that we can nail it down. If you see a slight temperature drop … well … that's your signal, Admiral. You will both be at your most well rested, so it's the best time of the day for you both. Just call the CIC and tell them that you're going to be late."

Adama grinned. "Sherman, this is easily the best medical advice I've ever received."

"Shelly, your temperature should quickly jump." Cottle ignored the interruption. "A human woman would expect a cycle of about twelve days, but I don't have any data for Cylons, so you're going to have to record everything. Now, while you're here I'd like to run a few tests and record your vitals so that I'll have some benchmarks."

Cottle reached into his pocket and brought out a prescription bottle. "Admiral," the doctor said diplomatically, "I'm sure you won't need these, but everything around here is starting to run up against the expiry date anyway, so you might as well take them. They'll … uh … improve your stamina. Use on an 'as needs' basis. Now, go on, get out of here so that your wife and I can get to work!"

. . .

"Hey, Six, welcome back."

"Thanks, KuhnLao. You remember Giana?"

"Sure. Is this a shopping excursion, Mrs. O'Neill?"

"Yes. Things for the baby."

"Great. Who's the flyboy?"

"Captain Adama."

"The admiral's kid? I thought he was a do-gooder. What's he doing here?"

"Same thing," Six replied. "He just found out a few hours ago that he's gonna be a daddy. It looks like he plans on doing the right thing …"

"Isn't he the one who's shacked up with another Six? Uh, pardon my Aquarian."

"Yes … one of my sisters. Look, he wants to barter his stuff for some things for the baby. Oh, and he needs a new suit. We want to trade his black one for something in gray."

"Sure, no problem. Is he carrying?"

"Come on, KuhnLao—he can barely stand upright."

"I still gotta frisk him, Six. You know the rules."

"Okay, but don't get mad if he throws up on you."

"It won't be the first time, Six. . . ."

"Okay, Captain, you're good to go. And Six, give our best regards to your sister. We'll take care of her best we can."

"Thanks, KuhnLao. By the way, where's Eric?"

"Forward lounge. You gonna need any help with the proud papa here?"

"Thanks, but we'll manage." Propping him more or less erect, Giana and Six steered Apollo into the bowels of the _Prometheus_ and the heart of the black market. They both knew that it was the only functioning economy in the fleet.

Several minutes later, and with Apollo more or less clinging to Six for dear life, the trio reached the forward lounge. Giana and Six eased him onto a bar stool, and Six roughly crossed his arms on the counter in front of him. But she pushed his head down gently, and she patted him lovingly on the back. "Time for a nap, Captain," she murmured as she turned to confront Eric Phelan.

The dark-skinned ex-marine had a drink in one hand and a thick, foul smelling cigar in the other. He dismissed Giana O'Neill in one glance, and then allowed his eyes to settle greedily on Six. A true connoisseur, Eric Phelan appreciated prime stock when he saw it.

"Have you finally come to your senses, Six?" Are you getting your sweet ass off _Galactica_ and moving over here where you belong?"

"In your dreams, Eric. We're just helping the good captain here with his shopping. He doesn't know his way around, and I didn't want you to take advantage of him."

"Too bad. You know, Six … it's a shame … you're wasted on the marines. I know some men- and women, if that's truly your preference- who could really bring out the best in you. And they pay well. We could make a fortune, you and I, if you'd just see reason."

"Eric, do you really want to give Gunny Mathias an excuse to pay you a visit? She's as inventive as I ever hope to get, and beneath that placid exterior beats the heart of a really jealous woman. Take my word for it: you really do not want to make her mad."

Phelan shrugged, and turned to offer the two of them seats.

"So, what's Captain Whosits to you?"

"Future brother-in-law. He's knocked up one of my sisters. He needs things for the baby. He's brought everything he owns with him, so give him a good deal. If it's not enough, I'm good for the difference."

Phelan got up and walked over to the bar. He rummaged around inside the box that Six had deposited on the bar stool next to Lee.

"It's not enough," he said bluntly. "If you want the whole package, it'll cost you."

Phelan returned to the table and sat down, but Six just regarded him silently.

"That leather and chains outfit of yours? I have a girl who'd do it justice, and a few clients who'd pay for the privilege. Got a whip that you can throw in on the side?"

Six nodded.

"Sweetheart, you're a charmer. If you ever get bored, just let me know. You can ply the whip _and_ I'll give you a healthy slice of the fee."

"A layette for three, Eric … and I'll think about your offer. I must admit that there are times when I long to whip some human ass."

Eric Phelan leaned back in his chair and roared with laughter. "Six, I can't believe that we're sitting here negotiating the price of baby clothes. What is the universe coming to?" He laughed again. "Paola," he yelled to the bartender, "get Six something to drink … something with some real bite to it! And find some fruit juice for Mrs. O'Neill here."

Phelan leaned forward and patted Six on the arm. The two of them went back to a time and place well before the war, and he couldn't have cared less that she had turned out to be a Cylon. Business, after all, was business.

"Hiris, I think that we've got everything you'll need right here on _Prometheus_, but if we don't I'll track the rest of it down. You know me … I'm a man of my word."

"Yes, Eric, I know you're good for it. And don't use that name again."

Phelan and Giana both looked at her curiously.

"'Hiris'," he reflected. "I never understood why you dropped it. 'Pleasure' was the perfect name for you."

"The operative word in that sentence, Eric, is 'was'. It's a little too suggestive for my current life-style … and I really would appreciate it if you'd stop baiting me."

. . .

"Dee, put me on speaker, please. And can you also patch me through to the baseship?" Adama had returned to the CIC. He had come to some decisions that would affect both ships, and this seemed like the perfect time to share it with the crews.

"Admiral, you're good to go," Dualla said a minute or so later.

"Attention everyone, this is the Admiral. Some of you may not yet have heard that this is a very special day in the Adama household. Lee learned this morning that he's going to be a father, and in the time-honored Tauron way, the very first thing he did was to go out and get drunk. If you happen to find him passed out cold on the deck someplace, please handle with care."

This earned Adama a round of laughter, whistles, and applause.

Adama held up his hands and pleaded for quiet.

"Please … please … there's something more that I want to say."

He waited for the CIC to quiet down.

"A baby has never come into the world on this battlestar … indeed, to the best of my knowledge a baby has never been born on _any_ battlestar. But that's going to change … if we're to survive as a species, it has to change. Up until now, we've been struggling just to survive, and the struggle has been so hard that we haven't really had the time to ask ourselves why we fight so hard simply to endure. Well, now we know … now, we know. We fight today so that our children and grandchildren, and all the generations of man yet to come, will have their chance at life. It's as simple as that."

Adama's eyes swept the room. "It's as simple as that," he said again, and he welcomed the low murmurs of agreement that he heard throughout the CIC.

"As of this minute," he went on, "there are going to be some changes on this ship. First, the traditional rule against fraternization between ranks is terminated, and it's gone forever."

Another roar swept the ship, and this wave threatened to go on without end. But Adama was patient, and quietly waited for it to subside.

"I guess that means that you all approve," he finally said to another round of laughter. "Seriously … seriously, the regulation made good sense when there were more than fifty billion of us, but it makes no sense whatsoever in our present situation. On our first day, Laura Roslin told me that the most important business of the human race was making babies, and she was right. But I'm stubborn and just a little bit slow, and I don't cozy up to change very easily. Still, I do get there eventually."

"Among other things, this means that Shelly and I will periodically be arriving at the CIC somewhat later than usual." Adama looked around the chamber with a mock glare. "Doctor's orders."

The CIC erupted with a cacophony of cheers and whistles.

"Something else that stops today is the required monthly round of anti-fertility injections for female personnel in critical positions. I can now confess that this one has always bothered me because, by some miracle of coincidence, just about every woman in uniform on this ship seems to occupy a critical slot. No more. The drugs will still be available for those of you who want to use them, but from now on this command is surrendering its long-standing control over your bodies. I expect all of you to behave responsibly, but if we're not prepared to trust one another when our race stands at the very edge of extinction, then maybe we really don't deserve to survive."

"Finally, there's just one more thing that I want to add. There are two hybrids in this fleet who have worked tirelessly to bridge the gap between human and Cylon even as they struggle to guarantee our mutual survival. Now we have three more hybrid children on the way, and it is my hope that we will love all of our children without distinction. Our new allies share our dreams, and they pretty much want the same things out of life that we do. They deserve a chance, and I am confident that the men and women of _Galactica_ will give it to them. Please forward any requests for transfers to the baseship to Colonel Tigh. Section chiefs, if you have specific personnel requests, I will forward them to Natalie for her consideration. That is all. Thank you for your attention."

"So say we all … so say we all … _so say we all … so say we all …" _The roar swept _Galactica_ from stem to stern.

The humans on the baseship took up the chant, and encouraged the Cylons to join them. Those who had worked side by side with humans for the past two months did so without hesitation.

In the control room, D'Anna Biers bowed her head in prayer. Her kind had been lost in a vast and terrible wilderness, but God had sent angels to lead them back into the light, and this was their reward. The angels would continue the work of redeeming the cylon from sin, and she would enter the lists to redeem the humans from idolatry. She vowed to walk among them, and to preach the message that the One True God held out the promise of love and forgiveness to all.

. . .

John Bierns pushed his chair back from the table, and looked at his hosts with satisfaction.

"Sibyl, thank you. Were it not for you and Bill, I would have given up all hope of ever eating well again. His engagement dinner is the only meal I've had in the last year that approached this one. You truly sit a fine table."

"No … thank you, John," Captain Janks replied. "We don't see enough of you, and with other Sixes and Eights now available to take her place, Lydia probably won't be going to _Galactica _quite so often anymore. It would sadden me to have you pass completely out of her life."

"Where are you living now, John? I'm embarrassed to admit that I don't even know," Lydia said.

"Well, now that Shelly no longer needs them, I have my old quarters on _Galactica_ back, but I don't really use them. I suppose that I'll offer them to the first Sixes or Eights who come along. The baseship is the closest thing I've got to a home now. Kara and I have both lived our entire lives among humans, so we both gravitate to it. I guess you'd say that we're bonding with our parents."

"John, would you consider … well, would you consider coming to live with us here on the _Express_?" Sibyl looked at him intently.

"It would make both of us very, very happy," Lydia added. "We want you to move in with us … become a part of our family."

"Lydia, I'm not sure that I understand. Are you saying that you would not only like me to live on the _Express_ but … uh … how should I put this? Share your quarters?"

"Yes, John." Lydia nodded vigorously. "We would like you to share our lives."

John pondered his reply for several seconds. "Lydia," he finally said, "the two of you seem so happy … so completely devoted to one another … that this comes as a complete surprise. You've overcome so many obstacles to forge a harmonious relationship. I have no wish to disrupt something that you've worked so hard to achieve."

"John," Sibyl confessed, "our motives here are self-interested. We want to have a child, and we want you to be the father. I'm asking you to give Lydia a child, and to help us raise it. A child needs its father, but with us it would also have two mothers. We do not want to ask for a sperm donor, nor do we wish to resort to artificial insemination. We find both practices repulsive, and they contravene God's design for us all."

"God, Sibyl?"

"Yes. I have embraced Lydia's faith. A divinity who offers us unqualified love, and who loves us not despite our flaws but because of them … this speaks to something inside of me that our gods never reached. I have abandoned them for what they are … a collection of squabbling human beings who just happen to be larger than life. I never really believed in them anyway."

"So you want the two of us to sleep together, but only until such time as Lydia becomes pregnant?"

"No, not quite. We would be delighted if you would continue to share our lives afterwards. I do not think of myself as possessive or jealous, and I know that Lydia loves me. This is the only way that we can remain together and still have a baby. Lydia deserves this, John. I strongly believe that every woman who wants to have a baby should have the opportunity, and Lydia should not have to give up her chance to have children simply because she has a marital partner of the same sex. We both admire you; there is quite simply no one else in the fleet that we would consider for this role."

"This is a very serious matter, Sibyl. I trust that you are not expecting an answer right here and now?"

"Of course not. But we do want to clear the air about one thing. We expected you to be hesitant because you're right … this is a very serious matter. But … please be honest with us. Does your hesitancy have anything to do with your … injuries?"

John visibly stiffened in his chair. "There was a time," he conceded, "when I would have turned you down out of hand, but it's not what you think. I have remained in hiding to avoid questions that I don't want to answer … hell … there are a lot of questions that I don't even want to address because I'm afraid of the answers. What happened on the baseship robbed me of whatever claims to innocence I had left. The experience took away what remained of my illusions, and it left me … I don't know what it left me. That's what I'm afraid to find out."

"But you love Mara still, don't you?" Lydia didn't fear rejection, but she wanted John to understand that there was only one legitimate reason for him to spurn their request.

He nodded in agreement, a faraway look in his eyes. "Loss doesn't destroy love," he whispered; "in some ways, it only strengthens it."

"Then find Mara, John. She's there, in your heart. Whatever else you have lost, you can't lose her unless you choose to let her go … and you haven't. Reach out to her and seek her guidance. If what we ask is a violation of trust … if the voice that you hear in your heart tells you that this is wrong … Sib and I can live with that. But I believe that my sister would see this not as betrayal but as an affirmation of love. She would see this as further proof that, for all our flaws, we are worthy of God's grace. It is when we place the needs of others above our own designs … well … that's when we prove that in the moments when we fall, we are still worthy of forgiveness."

John sat deep in thought—and then he tried to let it all go and follow the path that Lydia had suggested. She was right. He had never let go of Mara, and he never would. He had gone on to find Deirdre, but he sensed in his love for the hybrid no betrayal of all that he felt for his beloved Six. And yet his heart remained silent. It was as if Mara had released him to make this decision on his own.

_I can't, _he conceded, _I don't believe in God, and so I have no compass to follow. Perhaps Deirdre will have the answer. Maybe I'll get lucky and she'll forbid this out of hand. Yeah, right, John … and the universe will implode tomorrow. You know exactly what Deirdre's going to say because we've had this conversation before … about Reun. This is no different and you know it. Deirdre's conception of love makes allowance only for betrayals of the heart. She grasps what the rest of us barely sense: we can love the many without betraying the one. So why do I recoil from this? I love Lydia, and I want her to be happy. Why do I recoil from this?_

. . .

"Gods, Bill," Tigh said in little more than a whisper, "are you serious about all of this? Do you really expect some of our people to put in for transfers to the baseship?"

"No, not really. Oh, there may be a few who'll do it for all the wrong reasons- better food and better racks- but that's not what I'm after here."

"Well, then, do you mind letting me in on the secret? Because, apart from the fact that you've just boosted morale on this bucket about ten thousand percent, I can't figure out what you're trying to accomplish."

"Saul, we've never been able to get past our losses that first day. Virtually every department on the ship is short-staffed, but we just can't go on running _Galactica_ on double shifts day in and day out and pretend that it doesn't matter. It does. The pressures are slowly grinding us down, morale is slipping away, and we are making mistakes that in better circumstances simply wouldn't happen. We're barely able to stay on top of the essentials, and we're slowly losing the battle around the edges because we don't have the luxury of doing much routine maintenance anymore. Go out and walk the ship, Saul. Just keep your eye out for mold. Sensors that need to be replaced aren't because we don't have the time for it. Scrubbers that need their filters changed out stay as is because the deck gangs don't have the parts, the machines, or the time to manufacture new ones. At a minimum, we need two hundred Cylons to come over here and help us out, and I'd frankly be a lot happier if Natalie sees her way clear to giving us double that number."

"Four hundred skin jobs wandering the halls? Bill, are you sure that we're ready for this?"

"We'd better be."

"But … what are we going to do about the living arrangements? Yeah, I think we can handle a couple of hundred okay, but how do we squeeze in four hundred skin jobs? People will end up sleeping on top of one another!"

The admiral grinned at his old friend. "Is that such a bad idea? Saul, I have no intention of segregating the Cylons. The Sixes and Eights, which is what I expect Natalie to send us because she's smart enough to figure out what I'm really after here, are going to have to bunk in with everybody else."

"My gods, so this is why you dumped the fraternization rule. You actually want humans and Cylons to intermingle!"

"I promised them a chance, Saul. Well … this is it. But that's as far as it goes. We put them all in one big room, so to speak, but then we walk away. We stand back and see what happens. It's up to them to maximize the opportunity. Some of them will and some of them won't, but all of them should take away something positive from the experience. This is the part Natalie won't see. I want to make sure that these people never betray us … never even think about betraying us. I want their hearts and minds, Saul; whether or not our people also lay claim to their bodies is really none of our business."

. . .

Kara, Naomi and Galen were waiting in the landing bay when the Raptor landed and Giana and Six helped Apollo stagger down the ramp. He was clutching a large box with both hands.

"Hi, Chief," Lee managed. He squinted a bit, and then he smiled. "Hi, Naomi. How's ever lil thing?"

Galen turned his head to the side. Any centurion who got a whiff of Apollo's breath, he reasoned, would probably collapse on the spot.

"Hey, Starbuck! Did you hear news? I'm gonna be a daddy!"

Kara Thrace looked at Apollo with a mixture of fury and disgust. "Lee, didn't I warn you that there would be consequences if you hurt Creusa? Well, guess what? You're raw meat, and you've just stumbled into the lion's den. We've drawn lots, and I won. Without another word, Kara stepped up and scored a clean right cross to Apollo's jaw. The pilot went down in a heap, but he somehow kept the box firmly in his grasp.

"Gods damn you, Lee," Kara yelled as she towered over him, "how could you be this dumb? Why couldn't you have just kept your stupid mouth shut? Telling Creusa that you don't want the baby … what the hell were you thinking? Oh," she sneered, "I know … you weren't thinking. That's always been your problem, Lee … when it comes to women, you just don't think."

"Kara," Six warned as she gently pushed her daughter aside, "don't. It's not what you think. Look inside the box, Kara."

Starbuck stared at the Six with no name, and then she walked over and grabbed the box away from the prostrate Apollo, who for his part was idly wondering why he was seeing stars inside a baseship. She opened the lid, and then she froze. Slowly, she turned her head to stare up at the Six.

"He took everything he owned and went over to the _Prometheus_," Giana said. "He bartered it all to buy things for the baby."

"When he sobers up," Six went on, "we need to take him back to pick up his new suit. He got rid of his black one just to please my sister, but he wasn't exactly up for a fitting. I hope you've got something else on this ship for him to wear—he smells like a distillery."

Kara just shook her head in despair. "Chief, do you think you can find where he keeps his dress uniform? That will have to do if there's nothing else to hand … that or haul him off to Creusa bare ass naked."

Galen nodded. "Not a problem. Naomi," he asked, "I still get lost around here. Do you think you can lead the way?"

"Sure … let's go." Naomi took a few steps, and then she paused and looked back. "Can you three wrestle him into a shower, or do you want me to send a centurion to help?"

"Oh, I can carry him," Six answered. "However, we won't bother to undress him. We'll just wash him down, clothes and all."

Naomi smiled. "Do you want me to prepare coffee?"

"Not on your life," Kara objected. "He's drunk. A cold shower will turn him into a wide awake drunk. A cold shower plus coffee will turn him into a wide awake drunk who'll start fidgeting like a grasshopper. Let's settle for trying to make him halfway presentable, and then we'll let Creusa sort him out. Baby clothes …" Kara couldn't quite believe it. "Lee," she said more softly, "you're such an idiot."

By the time that Galen and Naomi had returned, a completely naked Six was busily soaping Apollo down. True to her word, she had removed nothing except his shoes. It was only after she had made a decent start on his clothing that she began to strip him. One piece at a time, she threw his now sodden clothes to Giana, who bundled them up before venturing off in search of a toothbrush. Apollo's breath was making her queasy, and she hadn't had a bout of nausea in the last week; she didn't even want to think what it would do to the newly pregnant Creusa.

For Six, soaping Apollo down turned out to be a cumbersome process because she had to pause every few seconds to slap his hands away. Drunk or not, Lee obviously still knew what went where.

_Apollo, _she thought with some regret, _there was a time when I would have loved to be naked in a shower with you, but alas Sixes aren't Eights. We don't poach. Still, if Creusa decides to throw you back into the pond, then we'll see …_

"Okay," she said to the others, "let's dry him off, get him dressed, and escort him on his way. Does anybody know where Creusa is?"

"In a refectory," Naomi said. "She has to eat, but each bite is a struggle."

"Does she have help," Kara asked.

"Larissa's there, and about half the ship seems to be milling around," Galen laughed. "And milling is the word. I get the impression that cylon programming has a few holes in it. Believe it or not, even the Leobens are at a loss."

Six could not help but laugh. "Isn't there a human expression about truer words, Chief? Fortunately," she added, "one of the things in Lee's box of goodies is a book on baby care. I suspect that it's going to become required reading around here … and if nurse Karanis wants to start holding classes, she won't lack for an audience. . . ."

Once Apollo was back on his feet and dressed, Kara sent Naomi ahead to clear a path. The last thing on Caprica that she wanted was for some angry Six or Eight to walk up and shoot the idiot. That, she reckoned, was Creusa's job.

Eventually, they reached the refectory. It was so crowded that, at first, Kara couldn't even see Creusa, but the sight of Lee Adama standing in the doorway had an almost magical effect. A gap opened in their ranks as they turned to confront him, and Lee staggered forward, still clutching his box. He was blind to all but one presence, and he slipped to the floor at her feet and set his box carefully down at his side.

"Look, Creusa … I went shopping." He reached into the box and brought out two identical outfits, one in pink and one in blue. "Do you like them," he asked. "I like them," he murmured. "Don't know what we're going to have, so got one of each. Sumthun for the baby to wear … sumthun pretty."

"Oh, Lee," Creusa breathed.

Lee resumed digging in the box. He brought out a stack of folded, white cloth. "And diapers," he said; "know we need lots and lots of diapers. And a rattle … bottles … powder … lots and lots of stuff."

Lee looked up into her eyes, his expression plaintive. "Do you know how to change a diaper, Creusa? Cause I don't. I don't know anything about being a father, and I'm scared … I'm really, really scared. Got to get this right … can't frak it up like everything else in my life. Maybe this will help."

Lee held up the book. "Look, Creusa, _Doctor Stork's Guide to Infant and Child Care_. Maybe we can read it together … learn how to be parents."

"Oh Lee, what am I going to do with you?" Creusa was on the verge of tears, she wanted to throw up, she wanted to run across the ceiling, and she wanted badly to kiss the father of her child. And she wanted to do all of these things at one and the same time.

"Don't know, Creusa," he replied as he reached up to caress her belly. "Juss know that I love you … you and the baby. My family," he said, and even in his drunken state the awe in his voice was unmistakable. "I love you."

"Lee, did you know that you've never actually said that to me before?" This is the first time."

"Really? It's my fault. I'm an Adama. Did you know that we're from Tauron?"

"Yes, Lee," Creusa smiled; "I know."

"Not very good with girls, we Adamas … never know what to say. Except great uncle Sammy … he was good with girls. Did I ever tell you about great uncle Sammy? He was a hit man … an honest to gods hit man. But he could change a diaper. He was the sweetest, kindest killer you could ever possibly meet."

Creusa reached out to stroke Apollo's cheek. "Lee, you're impossible, do you know that? But I love you … and you'll be a good father. You don't know it yet, but trust me … you'll do fine."

"You think so? I hope so … I really hope so. Cause I'm gonna be a daddy, Creusa, me … a daddy. Imagine that."

"I know, Lee. I was there … remember?"

Creusa looked up, and was relieved to see the grins on the faces of her brothers and sisters. Galen Tyrol, she observed, seemed unaware of the fact that he had draped his arm across Naomi's shoulders.

"Oh … yeah. Can I tell you a secret?"

"What, Lee?" Creusa leaned forward and kissed him tenderly on the lips.

"Do you know when I fell in love with you? It was the first time …"

"The first time, Lee? The first time, what?"

"I looked into your eyes. It's silly. Not supposed to happen that way. But it did. I looked into the eyes of a goddess, and I fell in love."

"I'm glad, Lee, because when I first looked into your eyes I felt it too. God wants us to be together. I knew that from the beginning. . . ."

The following morning, in a nearby Cylon version of the head, Creusa and Apollo got down on their knees not to pray but to have the rather unusual experience of throwing up together.

. . .

In the morning, Shelly waited until her husband had left for the CIC before she opened the box. She stared silently at its contents for a long time, and then she opened a cupboard door. Shelly removed the diapers, and folded them neatly away. One by one, she found space for the other items that Giana and her sister had brought back from the _Prometheus_. This was not the first time that she had performed this ritual; she had begun quietly accumulating everything that she would need for her daughters weeks before her marriage. Reun had granted her a vision, and Shelly Adama's deep faith would not permit her to question what had been revealed.

The last thing that Shelly removed from the box was the tiny pink dress that Giana had found. With its frilly panties and its bonnet … it was perfect. She surrounded it with tissue paper, and then gently laid it atop the stack of diapers. She stared at it blindly for a time, the daughter whom she longed to hold to her breast filling her thoughts. She did not even notice the lone tear that trickled from her right eye.

Time's passage held no meaning for her. She could not have said whether she stood there for a minute or an hour. But time did pass, and unbidden her steps eventually carried her to the CIC and her duties. She was cylon and she would always do her duty, secure in the knowledge that God loved her, and that one day He would reward her fidelity with a child of her own.


	18. Chapter 18: Murder Times Two

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MILD SEXUAL ACTIVITY AND SOME GRAPHIC VIOLENCE**

CHAPTER 18

MURDER TIMES TWO

"Aunt Six!" Melpomene screamed with delight, and ran across the room.

Six dropped to her knees, and opened her arms wide. Her face lit with joy as the little girl ran straight to her to receive her customary hug.

"Melpomene! I've missed you so much! And you've grown again!" The platinum haired Six opened her satchel, and reached inside. She brought out a party dress colored in rose pink, and held it up in front of the little girl. "I hope that this fits you. You're growing so fast that nothing I bring you seems to last more than two weeks."

"I'm a big girl now," the six year old proudly said.

"Yes, and you're getting bigger all the time." _It's true, _Six reflected, "_human children grow so fast. They truly are one of God's miracles._

"Daddy, can I wear my new dress?" The girl turned to look up at the towering figure of Darius Meacham.

"Of course, sweetheart. Why don't you go in the other room and change? Will you need help?"

"Daddy," Melpomene said in that long-suffering and impatient tone that children have always used to let their parents know that they're not babies anymore, "I really am a big girl now!"

"Okay, sweetheart, you go change." Darius looked curiously at the little boy who was standing quietly behind Six. Still on her knees, the blond Cylon twisted around and held out her hand to the boy. He came shyly forward.

"John, this is my good friend Darius. Darius, this is John. I found him alone on the _Thera Sita_." Darius heard the concern in Six's voice; he knew it was not misplaced.

Darius knelt in front of the boy. "Where are your parents, John?"

"I guess they're dead," the child replied. They put me on a Raptor, and I've never seen them again."

_Eight or nine years old_, Darius thought as the sheer obscenity of the war once again washed over him, _and forced to grow up long years before his time. This could have been my daughter …_

"Do you have family on the _Thera Sita_," he softly asked. "Friends?"

"No. No one."

"I found him in a tiny space behind some crates," Six said. "I think that's the only thing he has left." She pointed to a small, neatly folded blanket that the boy was clutching tightly to his chest.

"John, when's the last time that you ate?" The boy's sunken cheeks and sallow complexion shocked him.

"I don't remember," the child answered.

"What do you think, daddy?" Melpomene had come bursting back into the room, eager to show off her new prize. "Isn't it pretty?"

Darius gently rearranged the dress so that it fell more naturally on his daughter's shoulders. "It's a pretty dress," he said, "but it has to be because you're the prettiest girl in the whole fleet!"

"Daddy!" Melpomene giggled.

"Mel Pie," are you hungry?

"Uh huh," she said as her eyes suddenly grew larger.

"Then I want you to take John to the restaurant. You know the way, don't you?"

"Dad … dy," Melpomene replied in her best adult voice.

"Okay … I want the both of you to have a good lunch. Aunt Six and I have some work to do, but we'll be along to join you later. Will you wait for us?"

"Uh huh."

"Good. So you two run along now, okay?"

"Okay, daddy. Come on, John," Melpomene said as she reached for the boy's hand and pulled him forcefully towards the door. "I'm hungry. Let's go eat."

When the door closed behind the children, Darius Meacham stood up and turned to the Six. He pulled her to her feet and kissed her passionately. She kissed him hard in return. He stooped so that he could lift her into his arms, and he carried her into the adjoining bedroom. Six was tall, but Darius was a lot taller, and when it came to sweeping girls of all ages off their feet, he had a lot of experience. He deposited her gently on the bed, and then leaned in over her, his hands cradling the pillow beneath her head.

"I've missed you," he said simply. "It's getting harder and harder for me to watch you walk out that door." He kissed her, but this time with inordinate tenderness.

"I miss both of you," Six said, "and I want you _so much_."

Darius kicked off his shoes, and then discarded his jacket, shirt, and trousers. Six sat up so that she could remove her top, but she waited patiently for Darius to unzip her pants. She knew that he loved to undress her, and she reveled in the sensation of his fingers on her skin. When they were under the covers, her hand trailed down his body, her fingernails causing jolts of electricity to pass through everything that she touched. Slowly, but with increasing passion, they made love.

Afterwards, Six rolled on top of him, ruffled his hair, and looked with merriment deep into his eyes. "Does it frighten you," she asked.

"What?"

"The way my spine heats up and starts to glow … does it frighten you?"

Darius Meacham laughed, and pulled her down so that he could kiss her again. "Sweetheart," he said mischievously, "the one thing that I'll never have to worry about is you faking orgasms."

Six reached down between his legs and fondled him. "No," she happily conceded, "I don't think we'll ever have to worry about that." She settled comfortably on top of him.

"Darius," she said in a suddenly far more serious tone. "Another little girl is missing. Her name is Pyrrha, and she's simply vanished into thin air. Off the _Celestra_."

"That makes thirteen," Darius grimly observed. "Eleven girls and two boys. How old is she?"

"The people I talked with said four and a half … maybe five. Darius, it's the same pattern that we've seen so many times before … a small child, no parents … basically scavenging to survive. That's why I brought John with me. He's so vulnerable. Darius, this can't go on."

"And it won't," Darius emphatically countered, "at least not if you've worked up another report."

"I have," she nodded. "It's in my bag. I'll go get it. Do you think we have enough now to go to President Roslin?"

"I think so. The pattern is so consistent. Roslin will have to open an investigation."

Six walked into the living room and bent over to pick up her bag. She had never imagined that her kind could know such contentment, and the child's unalloyed acceptance of her presence was treasure beyond price. Her thoughts elsewhere, Six belatedly sensed movement behind her, but as she started to turn she felt a moment of sharp pain in her neck, and then without warning she was enveloped in a field of intense white light.

"Six?" Her failure to reply set off alarm bells in the pit of Darius Meacham's stomach. He got out of bed and advanced cautiously into the living room. He found her lying on the floor, a small trickle of blood oozing onto the carpet beneath her neck. A large, well-dressed man with very dark skin was standing over her, one foot resting on her shoulder.

"Six!" Darius looked around, and saw the three other men now encircling him.

"Why," he asked.

"To send a message," Eric Phelan tersely replied, as one of his thugs stabbed Darius Meacham in the kidney. The killer dropped Darius to his knees, pulled his head back, and cut his throat. The blade went in so deeply that it almost severed Meacham's head from the spine.

Phelan removed two one cubit pieces from his pocket, knelt twice, and shoved one into each of their mouths. The four gangsters exited the room as quietly as they had entered.

. . .

Admiral William Adama glanced at the hatchway, and a shadowy smile passed quickly across his heavily lined features. In his decades of service, he had seen many people stand nervously at the entrance to one CIC or another. Watching Sharon Agathon and one of the Sixes hesitate on the threshold amused him no end. He would never have guessed that the prospect of entering the sanctum sanctorum for the first time would make Cylons as nervous as it made humans.

Bill returned his attention to the schematic of _Galactica_ that currently covered the central console. Natalie was in the process of sending more than three hundred Cylons his way, and his entire senior staff was currently grappling with the seemingly prosaic issue of who was going to sleep where. The discussion had actually been enlightening in its own way. Bill had never allowed himself to become consciously aware of just how segregated the old battlestar had become. Doctors and nurses slept in or around sickbay; the astronomers hugged their telescopes … it was that way in virtually every department on the ship. It didn't strike him as a healthy or desirable arrangement, so the admiral had been on the verge of putting off his decision for another day when he spotted the two Cylons lingering outside the hatch. He caught Shelly's eye, and nodded slightly in their direction. His wife quickly walked over personally to usher them inside.

"Sharon … Six … welcome to the CIC." Adama extended his hand to welcome each of them personally. "Attention, everybody," he said, "I'd like you to welcome Mrs. Agathon and Six to our family. Both come to us from the baseship's control room. Sharon is the one who was throwing all those missiles around in the most recent battle above Kobol. The lieutenant is going to immerse her in our systems, and then we're going to turn her loose to become our second shift tactical officer. Six will be working with Lieutenant Gaeta and my wife at the nav console. I'm sure that we all have much to learn from someone who is able effectively to direct hundreds of Raiders around the crowded skies that seem to be a constant feature of our engagement zones. She will also be working closely with Kara, Sonja and Kat in our ongoing efforts to improve the tactical deployment of our Raiders and Vipers."

"Now," Bill said with a deadpan expression, "rumor has it that Sharon is happy with her current billet on _Galactica_, but it's my understanding that Six has yet to find a rack. Can somebody lend her a hand?"

"I'll see to it, sir." Dualla walked over and introduced herself to the Six.

"I remember you," Six said. "You laid out the communications array for the blackbird. You do very good work."

"Thank you," Dualla rather sheepishly replied. She _did_ do good work, and her performance reviews said so. Still, it was nice to hear someone actually say it out loud.

"Six," Adama interrupted, "could you give us the benefit of your advice? We're trying to figure out where to house everybody. We would like to accommodate your desires. Do you want to scatter among the human population, or have quarters exclusively to yourselves?"

The Six smiled. "Admiral, we both know that this is a unique social experiment. Humans are not segregated on the baseship, and that makes it easier for all of us to interact. Would the same not also be true on your _Galactica_?"

"_Our … Galactica," _Bill corrected. He looked around at his assembled officers; the Six had given him the answer that he wanted them all to hear. "Right, then … we do this on a compartment by compartment basis."

. . .

The Chief Security Officer on _Cloud Nine_ only needed to take one look at the mess in L-263 to reach a decision. He posted one of his men at the hatch, and then raced to the flight deck. He requested a direct line to President Laura Roslin's office.

. . .

Roslin waited until her three guests had made themselves comfortable. "Right," she said, "here's what we know so far. Earlier today, the bodies of a Six and a human male were discovered in one of the luxury suites aboard _Cloud Nine_. The two bodies were found in close proximity to one another in the living room. Both were completely naked. The Six appears to have been garroted, and the human, who has been identified as Darius Meacham of the _Chrion_, to have had his throat cut. A search of records indicates that both victims brought a child with them to the ship. Meacham brought his daughter, Melpomene, and the Six brought a boy who is identified merely as 'John'. She listed the _Thera Sita _as his place of residence. The boy is said to be about eight or nine years old. We have already made inquiries on the ship, but so far they have come up empty. A search of _Cloud Nine's_ accommodation registry revealed that this was the eighth time in the last six weeks that Meacham had taken a suite on the ship. In each instance, surveillance videos yield a Six with short, platinum hair on the deck in the same time frame. The Chief Security Officer believes that the victims were initially having a discreet affair, but over time the relationship appears to have deepened because the father started to bring his daughter with him. We have one video in which the three of them are dining in the ship's restaurant. Major Bierns and I have reviewed it. Major, would you agree that the little girl seems emotionally attached to the Six?"

"Yes, although I believe the disk reveals the Six to be no less attached to Melpomene."

"Agreed," Roslin nodded. "It is extremely worrisome that both of the children seem to have disappeared. _Cloud Nine _is a large vessel, and it takes time to search it thoroughly, but so far security personnel have found nothing. Bill, I have asked the major to head up the investigation. We don't know what we're up against here, but it might be _Demand Peace_. We have no evidence of violence on their part to date, but Meacham was well liked and respected on the _Chrion_. When a man of Darius Meacham's standing chooses to forgive the Cylons in so public a fashion … well, it might have rubbed those fanatics the wrong way. I would like you to put some marines at the major's disposal. Major, you had specific requests?"

Bierns nodded contemplatively. "I would like Sergeant Mathias and Six to back me up. Bill, I'm not a policeman, so I'm also going to need a lot of technical support. I'd like to borrow Gaius Baltar for the forensic work, and I'll need Doc Cottle to perform autopsies. Will any of this pose a problem for you?"

"No. Madame President … Major … you'll have _Galactica's_ full cooperation."

"Natalie, when we first started down this path I promised you that humans and Cylons would receive and be held to the same standard of justice." Roslin was looking the Cylon leader directly in the eye. "I meant it then, and I mean it now. Whoever did this will be found and held accountable. And if this does turn out to be a declaration of war on the part of _Demand Peace_, I will crush them like a piece of overripe fruit."

"Thank you, Madame President … I appreciate your sincerity. John, I suppose that you will want us to identify our sister. I will initiate inquiries as soon as I return to the baseship. If we are missing anyone, it will soon become evident."

"Thank you, Natalie," John said. "I have no background whatsoever in police procedural, so I can only hope that the killer or killers left an abundance of clues. In the CSS, we never had to worry about identifying the bad guys. We just went out and … eliminated … the problem."

. . .

John Bierns, Gaius Baltar, and Sherman Cottle paused outside the entrance to L-263. Bierns glanced down the hall at L-258. The two suites were within line of sight, and John was tempted immediately to go and pay a visit to Lee Adama's one-time girlfriend. Kara had once idly mentioned that Shevon and her daughter were living the high life on _Cloud _Nine. It had taken him less than thirty seconds to ascertain that the high class escort was in fact living in L-258 and not simply making occasional use of it. A prostitute as talented as Shevon appeared to be might have easily seen or heard something that a less attentive person would have missed. Bierns decided to file her away for future reference.

"Has anyone been inside since the bodies were discovered?" Baltar directed his question at the security man on the door, but it was the Chief Security Officer who answered.

"No. We've kept it sealed. No one's been in or out."

"Good. Let's keep it that way. Doctor … Major, I suggest that you wait outside. Major, could you find out when the carpet was last vacuumed?"

The security officer consulted a thick file. "It was four days ago, Mr. Vice-President."

"And has anyone else been in the suite in the interim?"

"No. Not according to our records. Just these two … oh, and of course, the children."

"Excellent. I would like you to bring me a vacuum cleaner, and a fresh bag. You never know what you're going to find until you try … wouldn't you say, Major?"

"Absolutely. If I hadn't accepted Mitch Mackay's dinner invitation that night, I never would have met Natasi, and she was an astonishing find. Wouldn't you agree, Doctor?"

Baltar gave Bierns a dirty look, which merely served further to confuse an already confused Sherman Cottle. He didn't have the slightest idea what the two men were going on about, but the undercurrents swirling all around him were very strong.

Baltar closely examined the carpet around the bodies and then moved on to the bedroom. He hailed Cottle almost instantly. "Doctor, I would suggest that you look for traces of semen in the Six's vagina, and perhaps you'll be able to get a match from Mr. Meacham's organ. At a guess, I would say that they were … uh … consummating their relationship when this happened. There are fresh stains on the bed sheets, and they will probably tell us the same thing."

"Major, this will interest you. There's a child's dress in here … carelessly thrown aside. Do you see the bag in the corner there … to your right? I'll hazard that we'll find the Six's prints on the clasp and the handle. She might well have brought the little girl a new dress as a present. If the point becomes of sufficient interest, we should be able to track down the person who sold it to her."

Bierns didn't need an autopsy to recreate the scene. "She came out first," he whispered to Cottle, "and someone got behind her and garroted her. Even with the carpet to conceal his footsteps, he must have been very, very good. Cylons have superb hearing, and even better reflexes. The man came out after her. It doesn't look like he put up a struggle. He's a big guy, and he looks to be fit. I'll hazard a guess of my own: there were at least two killers in the room, perhaps more."

. . .

"Madame President, there's a Mr. Royan Jahee here to see you."

Roslin frowned. "Do I know him, Billy? Does he have an appointment?"

"No, Madame President, but you might want to meet with him anyway. I believe that he's one of the leaders of _Demand Peace_."

A very ugly look passed across the President's face. "Show him in."

"Good afternoon, Madame President. I'm Royan Jahee. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

"Please sit down, Mr. Jahee. What can I do for you?"

"I just heard about what happened on _Cloud Nine_. Madame President, I deplore violence, and so do the people in our organization. We want to live in peace with the Cylons, not slaughter them. There's been too much death already. I just wanted to assure you that _Demand Peace _had nothing to do with this … this crime."

"I don't understand, Mr. Jahee. Why do you think we would link your organization to this murder?" Roslin opened a desk drawer and pulled out a pamphlet. "Perhaps it has something to do with this." She waved the document in front of Jahee's face. "What does it say in here … let me see: 'do not be afraid; we are not terrorists. But we will not sit back while Adama's war machine continues to press us into cruel and futile conflict'. That sounds like an overt threat, Mr. Jahee."

"Madame President, I'm only an interested party trying to prevent more bloodshed …"

"How many people support your organization, Mr. Jahee?"

"Thousands, so if you're planning on trying to crush us, you can stop now. It will come to civil war. The people in this movement are following an idea, not a leader."

"I'm not interested in crushing you, Mr. Jahee, but I would like to try and reason with you. You want peace with the Cylons? Well, look around you. There are thousands of Cylons now living among us, more than three hundred of them on _Galactica_ alone. People are building solid relationships with them … people like Darius Meacham. Is that why he died, Mr. Jahee … because he was intimate with a Cylon?"

"Madame President, I have no idea why anyone would want to kill Darius Meacham. I understand him to have been a fine man, and a wonderful father. I had no idea that he was having a relationship with a Six."

Roslin studied her adversary through narrowed eyes. "I didn't say that he was having a relationship with a Six, Mr. Jahee … I said 'with a Cylon'."

"Please, Madame President, don't try to trap me. By now half the fleet knows that the dead Cylon is … was … a Six. And we're straying from the point. We don't want peace with a breakaway faction … we want peace with the Cylons at large. Expel them from the fleet, Madame President … send them away. Like Cavil said, 'it's a big universe'. If we give up the Cylons in the fleet, we need never have to deal with their kind again."

"And you're just willing to take Cavil's word for it, I suppose. No guarantees of any kind?"

"_Galactica_ is our guarantee, Madame President. Admiral Adama was doing a fine job of protecting the fleet before the Cylons arrived on the scene, and I'm confident that he will continue to protect us after they've left."

"And I suppose it means nothing to you that the admiral is married to a Cylon? That his son is having a baby with a Cylon, as are others in the fleet?"

Jahee started to reply, but Roslin held up her hand to silence him. "No, Mr. Jahee, not another word. I don't even want to think about how you would rationalize the torture and death of Shelly and Creusa. Billy will see you out."

After Jahee had left, Roslin put her work aside and turned away from her desk to think. Finally, she summoned Billy Keikeya into her office.

"Billy, I want you to drop everything else and go find Major Bierns. Bring him back here. Tell him that it's urgent, and that I want to see him immediately!"

. . .

John Bierns stood just inside the entrance to the suite and tried to take it all in. Like _Cloud Nine_, _Chrion _was a luxury liner, and Darius Meacham had been able to afford the best for himself and his daughter.

The chamber was smaller than the unit on _Cloud Nine_, but it still had its own bathroom as well as a separate bedroom. The first thing that struck Bierns was how much Meacham must have loved his daughter. Toys were scattered haphazardly around the room, and he could see a coloring book and crayons on the table. The sight of a booster seat on one of the chairs caused him to wince in pain. If the girl was still alive he would find her, but she would never again know the simple pleasure of having her father sit beside her as she drew pictures in her book.

Bierns walked over to the table and slowly turned the pages. _Yes,_ he thought, _she loved the Six_. A stick figure with ridiculous yellow hair stared back at him as he moved from one page to the next. _The purity of a child's heart,_ he sadly thought; _where we see difference, they see similarity. They find love where we don't even know it exists._

Bierns began thoroughly to search the compartment, but it didn't take him long to find what he was looking for. Meacham's compartment may have been messy, but the man had kept his own affairs in good working order. The top shelf of a bedroom closet yielded his files. The one that mattered, like all the others, was neatly labeled in a precise hand: _Child trafficking in the fleet._

Bierns walked back out to the living area and pulled up a chair. He started to read, and given his own personal history, it was hardly surprising that his anger began steadily to rise.

. . .

"Major, I have a very odd request for you. We're now caught up in such an absurd yet dangerous situation that the only people I trust to get it right are the Cylons. One of the leaders of _Demand Peace_ was in my office earlier today, and he quoted what Cavil offered us in conference verbatim. Their group must have had somebody inside that room … probably one of the marines. _Demand Peace_ is dangerous enough as it is, but if they've penetrated the military …"

Laura Roslin sadly shook her head. "I want you very quietly to take Cylons in critical jobs on _Galactica_ aside. I want you to see to it that they're armed … discreetly, of course … and I want you personally to make sure that they're sufficiently well trained to defend themselves and their stations. Adama seems very popular with his crew, but it would take only one person with a gun to assassinate him, and it would all go quickly downhill from there."

"I'll see to it, Madame President. But _Demand Peace_ itself … do you want me to make the problem go away?"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that I'm very good at my job, Madame President. This wouldn't be the first time that I've made a presidential headache disappear."

"You were Richard's hatchet man, weren't you?"

Bierns remained silent.

"No matter. Royan Jahee said that _Demand Peace_ revolves around ideas, not leaders. I believe him."

"In my experience," John carefully observed, "ideas don't organize themselves. Kill the organizers, kill the movement. The underlying problem is still there, of course, but despite the occasional explosion in the public arena festering resentments do tend to remain quite ineffectual absent effective leadership. It would also give us an opportunity to make certain other problems go away."

"Go on."

"Tom Zarek. It would not be very difficult to paint him as thesinister puppet master behind _Demand Peace_."

"Interesting … very, very interesting. I hadn't thought of that." A speculative look crossed Roslin's face.

"No," she said decisively, "I don't want to play that particular card … not unless my hand is forced."

"Madame President, please keep in mind that … if your hand is forced … I will need some lead time. These things need to be arranged with care. Do you want me … how shall I put it … to undertake a certain amount of contingency planning?"

"Yes," Roslin slowly said, "yes. By all means."

"Very good, Madame President. Now, on to other business. I believe that I now know why Meacham and the Six were killed, and knowing 'why' also gives me 'who'."

Bierns walked her through it. He did not, however, think it necessary to tell the President just how Eric Phelan and the black market would fit into his contingency plans.

. . .

John laid two automatics on the counter in front of Sharon and the Six. Double-checking to make sure that the safeties were engaged, he looked up at the two Cylons. "The President is worried that _Demand Peace_ has made inroads into the military. She's having nightmares about terrorist operations and assassination attempts. Her worries are not unreasonable. She wants Cylons in critical positions on _Galactica_ to be armed, and she wants me to make sure that you are all qualified in the use of small arms. That's why we're here. These two weapons have full magazines, and there's a live round in both chambers. I want each of you to disassemble and then reassemble your weapon … starting now."

"I can do this," Sharon tersely said. "I share a lot of Boomer's memories," she went on to explain. "Everything associated with the uniform … it's so potent."

Sharon checked the safety, and then showed the Six how to eject the live round and drop the magazine. Next she began methodically to take the gun apart, explaining as she went along how to clean and lubricate the various parts. She paid particular attention to the ejection slide, which was not clean enough to satisfy her. The Six followed her step by step.

When they were finished, John asked them to put the weapons in the waist band of their pants, up against the small of their backs. He instructed them in future to wear loose fitting sweaters or jackets in the CIC—loose clothing would conceal the guns but also permit easy access. Finally, he pinned two sheets with human silhouettes to the overhead tracks and sent them precisely seven meters down the target range.

"Right," he said, "I want the two of you to work the CIC on different shifts—Adama's shifts. Your primary job will be to keep him alive and well. The CIC is not all that large, so the odds are that you will be operating inside a small, confined and possibly crowded killing zone. I want you to engage in continuous threat assessment … and do not assume that the threat will come from a stranger. Often the person you can least trust is the one you think you know best. If you see a gun where there shouldn't be one, eliminate the threat. If a marine starts to raise his rifle without reasonable cause, eliminate the threat. Don't panic, but don't hesitate. Use judgment, but be prepared to act. Now, let's evaluate your marksmanship skills. . . ."

. . .

Bierns caught up with the admiral outside _Galactica's _morgue. Bierns and Cottle had both examined the bodies during their visit to _Cloud Nine_, and there were no mysteries surrounding either cause of death. Bierns couldn't imagine, therefore, what had inspired the doctor to summon the two of them on such short notice. . . .

"Admiral … Major … I thought that both of you would want to see this."

Cottle took a pair of forceps, and probed the inside of Darius Meacham's mouth. He extracted a one cubit piece and dumped it in a bowl. A moment later, he repeated the procedure on the Six, with the same results.

"It looks like Mr. Meacham and his lady friend hit the jackpot," Cottle acerbically remarked. "Bring me some more bodies and I may retire early."

Adama looked at Bierns. "Someone's sending us a message," he ventured. "Any ideas?"

The spook had a pensive look on his face. "I thought I had a handle on the situation, but this doesn't make a whole lot of sense."

"I'm missing something," he muttered more or less to himself. Suddenly, he came to a decision. "Bill, I need to talk to Natalie. We have to find out what this Six was doing on the _Thera Sita_. If you need me, I'll be on either _Cloud Nine_ or the baseship. Doctor, please bag the cubits; I want to return them to their rightful owner."

. . .

In the control room, Bierns got straight to the point. "What have you found out," he asked.

"She was working with Chief Tyrol on the blackbird project." Natalie was equally blunt. "You'll recall that Mr. Tyrol was intent on having every ship in the fleet contribute something to the blackbird. My sister was one of a handful of Sixes who went around making the necessary trades." A trace of a smile etched Natalie's features. "Mostly, this involved peddling the alcohol that the Chief was producing in his still at the best price my sisters could negotiate. John, the chief is a very enterprising man, and surprisingly, my sisters turned out to be good … what's the human expression … horse traders? They're still at it."

"Hmm. So what was she doing on the _Thera Sita_ this morning? What was she trying to buy?"

"I don't know," Natalie honestly admitted. "Perhaps we should go talk to the chief and see if he has the answer."

. . .

"Excuse me, Admiral, but I wonder if I could have a minute of your time."

Bill looked up, and was surprised to see D'Anna Biers standing on the other side of the console.

"Miss Biers," he smiled, "welcome back to the _Galactica_."

"Thank you, Admiral, but you have me confused with one of my sisters. I have not been on your ship before. And please call me D'Anna."

"Thank you, D'Anna. Now, how can I help you?"

"Admiral, I am Petty Officer Dualla's counterpart in the baseship's control room. The two of us are going to be working together to create a communications patch that will allow our tactical and navigation consoles to speak with one another directly. This will allow for more effective coordination, and it may just save our lives in some future engagement. Since I may be on board your vessel for quite some time, I wanted to ask your permission to lead my kind in religious services. This is one of my duties on the baseship, and it is a responsibility that I take very seriously. I would also like to invite your people to join us if they would like to take advantage of this opportunity to learn more about our beliefs."

Adama visibly hesitated before answering. "D'Anna, it is my understanding that human and Cylon beliefs are very different, so this is a potential source of friction between us. Can you lead your people in worship without being disrespectful of humans who entertain a different vision of the divine?"

"Without difficulty, Admiral." D'Anna smiled. "Our needs are very simple. We do not require an altar because we do not make sacrifices. We seek God in our hearts, so any unused space large enough to hold all of us will do nicely."

Bill glanced in Shelly's direction; this was precisely the sort of issue on which he heavily depended upon her counsel.

"This is important to us," Shelly offered. "And D'Anna is right … our beliefs pose no threat to yours precisely because they are so different. I think that you should agree to this, if only on a trial basis. You can attend a service with me, and draw your own conclusions."

Bill nodded in agreement. "Very well, D'Anna, you have my permission to proceed." Bill looked at Tigh. "The starboard hangar deck?"

"Probably the best choice," the XO agreed, "especially since that museum never got off the ground. At the moment it's nothing but wasted space."

. . .

"Chief, are you under there? If you have a minute," Bierns said, "we'd like to have a word."

Tyrol looked up at Natalie and John. He was on the floor underneath a Viper, trying to conjure up a solution to a troublesome leak that threatened to turn the bird into unserviceable scrap. He climbed onto his feet and pulled out a soiled rag to wipe his hands.

"Is this about my Six," he asked.

"Yes," Natalie replied. John tells me that she was on the _Thera Sita_ this morning. Do you have any idea what she was doing?"

"The same thing as every morning, Commander: she was scouring the fleet for parts."

"Parts for what, Chief?"

"Major … uh … we wanted to make this a surprise, but … well …"

The Chief walked over to a heavy tarpaulin. It was draped over a large object, and from the silhouette Bierns guessed that it was a Viper.

"Naomi," Galen asked, "do you want to get the other end?"

"One … two … _three_," the Chief said, and together the two of them threw off the heavy tarp.

Natalie and John both gasped in surprise. "My gods," the spook blurted out, "you're building another blackbird!"

"A new and improved blackbird," Naomi proudly announced. This one won't be helpless. We've figured out a way to integrate missile launchers into the design without making it more vulnerable to DRADIS. This one will be invisible, fast—and very, very deadly."

"Wow!" John walked around the frame, which was well advanced. "Unbelievable. Chief … Naomi … this is incredible! Am I seeing this right … two drop down missile launchers on the tail? And another pair of launchers up front, recessed inside the cowling?"

"That's right, Major." A Six walked up to join them. Several weeks earlier, this particular Cylon had been ready to dismiss Galen Tyrol as a moron barely capable of walking without scraping his knuckles on the ground. The blackbird had warmed their relationship considerably, and his designs for this second generation stealth ship had more or less elevated the Chief into the genius category in her mind. The blackbird was his baby, but they were all nursing it along.

"So am I to take it," Natalie queried, "that the still is not only up and running but running full time?"

"Yes, ma'am," the Chief replied. "We really don't have anything else to trade."

"Galen," Bierns quietly asked, "have you … uh … had any dealings with the black market … specifically with a mercenary named Phelan?"

"No, sir. What we need for this project the black market can't supply."

"Okay … let me put the question another way. You're trading in alcohol, and the _Prometheus_ is selling it—at a pretty steep price." John reached into his pocket and pulled out a sealed bag with the two cubits. "We pulled these from the mouths of our victims. It's a message, Galen. Eric Phelan is telling us to butt out of his affairs, but I'm not exactly sure where we've crossed him, and I need to know before I confront him. I know you've had Sixes working the whole fleet … cutting deals. Have they been stepping on toes? Were they warned off, however politely? Were they told that they could continue, but that the mob would have to be cut in for a piece of the profits? Talk to me, Galen; tell me what we're mixed up in."

"Major, this is absurd. We're not setting up some kind of rival operation. All my people are trying to do is trade alcohol for parts and materials … we're not selling anything to anybody. Profit? Look around you, Major. Does it look to you like we're rolling in contraband down here?"

Bierns sidestepped the question. "Galen, I have to revisit _Cloud Nine_, but I'll be back. In the interim, I want you to locate every Six that you've got out there and bring them home. Question them for me. Find out if they've been threatened. Ask them to think it through very, very carefully. Mobsters like Phelan have a pretty strict code. They generally issue one warning before they strike, but they can be so damned subtle that a Cylon might miss the import of what she's hearing. I want to know whether any of our people have crossed paths with Phelan or one of his henchmen."

. . .

"Admiral, it's not often I get to see you twice in one day." Sherman Cottle paused to light a cigarette. "Shelly tells me that you've been experiencing stiffness in your joints, and that your hands seem to have lost some of their flexibility."

The two Adamas looked at one another blankly. Neither one of them had the faintest idea what the prickly surgeon was talking about.

Cottle reached deep into the pocket of his lab coat and pulled out a bright pink bottle of baby lotion. "I want you to start rubbing this into your hands at least twice a day. The lotion will benefit your skin, and the rubbing action will partially restore the flexibility in your fingers. I don't see any evidence of arthritis, so low grade intervention should be sufficient at this point."

"Sherman," Bill said in a voice that bristled with impatience, "what the hell are you talking about?"

"Bill, your hands are far too rough for my liking. I've just finished running Shelly's weekly hormone series, and the hCG screen offered some intriguing results. In fact, you can regard them as definitive. What can I say except congratulations to you both; nine months from now, the two of you are going to be busy changing diapers."

Shelly started to sway, and Adama reached out to steady her. "Bill … oh, Bill … you don't know …" Shelly buried her head in his shoulder.

"Yes, I do … yes, I do. I love you … gods, how I love you!" He wrapped his arms around her, and held her tight.

"As I said, Admiral, your hands are far too rough … to be handling a newborn baby. But you have lots of time to prepare yourself for fatherhood. Shelly can't be more than a week to ten days into her pregnancy because the last time we ran this test it was negative. Young lady, I want to see you in here tomorrow morning, bright and early. In fact, I want this to be your first stop every morning for the next week. We'll keep running the test … we'll have to intervene fast if yours turns out to be an ectopic pregnancy."

Cottle took a quick drag on his cigarette, and then stubbed it out. "Admiral, if you can afford the time I'd like you to join us. We can talk about diet and exercise, and things that I want you to look out for. And when Shelly comes in for her check-ups, I want you to come with her. You might find it a bit idiosyncratic, but as far as I'm concerned you're both having this baby, and I want you to be here for each other from start to finish. Now, get out of here and go celebrate."

Arm in arm, Shelly and Bill slowly headed in the direction of the CIC. Completely lost in themselves, they ignored human and Cylon stares alike.

"Dee," Adama said when they finally reached their destination, "please put me on speaker, and get the baseship on the line. . . ."

"Ladies and gentlemen, we haven't had a lot to celebrate since the attacks, but I hope that all of you will celebrate this moment with Shelly and me."

Adama looked around the CIC, and then his eyes came to rest on the beautiful woman standing at his side.

"Shelly and I have just come from seeing Doc Cottle, and I'm proud to say that Lee isn't the only Adama in this fleet with a baby on the way."

A roar of applause swept across the old battlestar. Adama was right; the hard-pressed men and women under his command had not had much to celebrate in a long time, and another baby was good news indeed. Bill tossed decorum to the winds, took Shelly in his arms, and kissed her for all that he was worth.

. . .

John pressed his ear up against the door to L-158, and listened carefully. He didn't want to barge in on Shevon and embarrass her client, but he needed answers and it struck him that she was better positioned than most to provide them. Hearing nothing, he knocked firmly on the door. He gave it thirty seconds, and then he knocked again, more forcefully.

The door opened a crack—just enough for him to make out that it was indeed Shevon. "I'm busy," the young woman said as she started to close the door.

John pushed it open a bit more. "Sorry, Shevon, but this isn't a social call. I need to talk with you, and now is far preferable to later. Please tell your … friend … to get dressed and go have a drink at the bar. He can charge it to my tab. My name, by the way, is Bierns … Major John Bierns of the Colonial Secret Service." Even through a partially closed door, John could sense the fear that immediately gripped her, although he could not tell if it was his name or the mention of the dreaded CSS that triggered her reaction.

"You're the hybrid?"

"In the flesh. But don't worry … I don't bite."

"Sorry to have … uh … interrupted you," John said to the thoroughly flustered and still anonymous client. He waited patiently for the gentleman to leave.

"Shevon, I need your help. I'm dealing with a pair of murders that took place only a few meters from this compartment. I don't suppose that you heard or saw anything?"

"No," she said. There was a distinct tremor in her voice, and John did not miss the fact that she withdrew a half step as she spoke. The woman was valiantly trying to conceal it, but he could smell the fear on her.

"After I went through Darius Meacham's effects," he continued, "I thought that I'd be able to wrap this up fairly quickly. But the autopsy tossed a second pyramid ball onto the court. We found these in the victims' mouths."

John took out the bag containing the two cubits and showed it to her.

"Shevon, I know that the Sixes have been out busily trading alcohol all over the fleet. What have you been hearing? Were they cutting into somebody else's profit margin? Say … somebody like Eric Phelan?"

"I don't know," Shevon whimpered as she stepped farther away. "No one who crosses Phelan lives long enough to talk about it."

"You're part of his stable, aren't you, Shevon? He's been setting you up with high-end clients, right? Have the Sixes been undercutting him? Come on, Shevon, quit pretending. You're well placed, and you're the kind of person who keeps her ear to the ground. I'm not asking you for names and dates … just the lay of the land will do." John glided toward the door to the adjoining chamber. He expected to see Paya in L-259, but the compartment seemed empty.

"Okay … okay … you're right. The word is that Eric was unhappy with the skin jobs. He has a distribution network in place for smokes and booze throughout the fleet, even _Colonial One_ and _Galactica_. It's a monopoly … a very profitable monopoly … and he doesn't welcome competition."

John strolled into L-259, and went so far as to kneel down and look under the bed.

"At the time of the murders, two young children went missing from these decks. Where's Paya, Shevon?" John's voice was very, very soft, but it contained a hint of steel. "Where's your daughter?"

"Leave her out of this," Shevon screamed. "Oh gods, he took her! He knew that you'd come around, and he warned me that if I told you anything he'd send Paya back to me in pieces! Oh gods, my daughter!"

Bierns rushed to her side and pulled Shevon into his arms. She was sobbing helplessly, so he held her tight. "I'll get her back," he assured her as he kissed her lightly on the cheek. "I promise you. I'll get her back."

. . .

"Is this everybody?" John and Natalie were once again in Galen Tyrol's maintenance bay, and he was relieved to see a number of Sixes who had not been present on his previous trip.

"Yes," Galen answered. "Just as you requested, Major. All of our … uh … buyers are on the deck."

"And what have you found out? Was anybody approached … anybody warned off?"

"I may have been," one of the Sixes interrupted, "but I'm not sure."

John nodded at her, urging her to continue.

"I was on the _McConnell_ … negotiating for engines. A man approached me … a big man. He was taller than me, very broad, heavily muscled. Short-cropped hair that was very blond… it didn't go well with his dark beard. He was soft-spoken and polite, but he may have been trying to intimidate me. Again, I'm not sure."

"So, what happened?"

"He said that he knew I was cylon, and he questioned how much I knew about human business practices. He said my sisters and I were infringing upon commerce that other people in the fleet had worked very hard to build up, and denying them profits fairly earned. But he emphasized that the people we had hurt understood that this was unintended, and that they had no hard feelings. He hoped that in future we could all work together, and not inadvertently step on one another's toes. I remember looking down … but no, although he was standing very close to me, he wasn't stepping on my toes. He was a very curious man."

"Six … uh … how did you respond?"

"I thanked him for his interest. I explained that we were trading for parts with which to build more ships to defend the fleet, and I told him that it was nice to hear people talking about working together for the common good. Oh … and I concluded by saying that I was looking forward to meeting him and his friends at some point in the future. I was very polite."

John Bierns openly gaped at the Six before turning to offer Galen Tyrol a despairing look. But Galen didn't notice because he was staring at the ceiling. _Tell me that this isn't happening!_ John would have bet a month's salary that he and the Chief were sharing the exact same thought.

"Did my sister do something wrong," Natalie asked.

"Ma'am," Galen quietly observed, "for all intents and purposes she declared war on the gangsters who control the black market."

Bierns sighed heavily. "Chief, I would like you and Natalie to accompany me to the _Prometheus_. Let's see if we can settle this mess peacefully before it all gets completely out of hand. All the same, I suppose that we'd better take a squad of centurions along just for insurance."

. . .

Erin Mathias and the Six with no name were waiting at the foot of their Raptor when the Heavy Raider arrived from the baseship. The three centurions who immediately descended the ramp warmed the Six's heart.

"Gunny," Six commented with a devilish smile, "I'm beginning to feel a little underdressed. Couldn't you have brought some bigger guns?"

Sergeant Mathias simply smiled, and then she leaned over to kiss the Six hard on the lips. They were on detached duty, and she figured that the ordinary rules didn't quite apply. Six kissed her hard in return.

_I have got to be a charter member of the weirdest harem in the history of the universe,_ Mathias wryly thought. She had watched Six transform herself from a cynical, burnt out Cylon into a cynical, hard-assed marine, and she was proud of her contribution to that transformation. She liked to think that the two of them shared a special bond, and perhaps they did, but Six enjoyed men far too much to settle into the kind of monogamous relationship that the Gunny envisioned in her fantasies. Erin calculated that Six had now slept with more than two-thirds of _Galactica's_ marine contingent, and she suspected that this included all but one of the women. The marines had never openly discussed it, but there was a clear understanding that while Six was off limits to outsiders, she could do whatever she pleased within their ranks.

Gunny Mathias smiled to herself. _It took a Cylon to give us real unit cohesion and esprit de corps!_

Two of the centurions posted themselves at the bottom of the ramp, but it was obvious to the sergeant that the third behemoth was going to accompany them into _Prometheus'_ heart. The major, she decided with an approving smile, was going to give everyone on this rust bucket a long overdue reminder of what really big guns looked like!

As they advanced, Erin Mathias noted with amusement that the narrow and always crowded corridors of _Prometheus _miraculously seemed to empty just ahead of them. _There's nothing like having a toaster for company, _she concluded, _if you want to have a little space to yourself._

Suddenly, she heard a ragged, tearing sound off to her left. Erin Mathias did not have children, but she had had younger brothers and sisters, and she knew the sound made by a sobbing child all too well. Her heart leapt to her throat … and then it leapt again. John Bierns was staring into a heavily grated porthole, and his face had just turned to stone. Six had once told her that the major's childhood was the stuff of nightmares, and now she believed it. A shiver ran along her spine because she was convinced that one of the Furies had just landed on this misbegotten ship's deck. For a brief moment, she pitied whoever had been harming the children on the other side of that hatch.

The blond woman whom the major had escorted off the Heavy Raider rushed forward to push him aside. She stared frantically into the porthole.

"_Paya,"_ Shevon screamed, _"Paya … are you there, sweetie? Please, tell me you're there!"_

"_Mommy,"_ the child cried, _"mom … my!"_

"I'm here, Paya … I'm here." Shevon struggled to calm herself so that she could reassure her daughter. "Don't worry, sweetie, everything's gonna be okay. You just sit tight and we'll have you out of there in a few minutes. Mommy's going to stay right here until someone can go and find the keys, okay?"

"Sergeant Mathias," Bierns said in a voice that had gone dangerously flat, "I want you and the centurion to stay here. No one gets near these children who didn't come with us. If anyone is stupid enough to try anything, just shoot the bastards. Natalie, Six, Galen … you're with me."

John Bierns moved deeper into the ship.

. . .

"… Finally, Father, we thank You for the blessings that You have bestowed upon us. We thank You for the love with which You grace our lives, and for the forgiveness that You have inspired within our hearts. We have sinned, and our sins are terrible to behold. Once, we thought ourselves flawless, and convicted ourselves of hubris. Once, we thought that no other being in the universe could measure up to our standards, and we convicted ourselves of arrogance. And once, we wrecked our vengeance upon Your creations, and stained our souls with unforgiveable sin. We are not worthy of Your divine forgiveness, but we shall strive to become better people, and hope one day to be seen as worthy in Your eyes. . . ."

D'Anna Biers looked around her. The starboard hangar bay was vast, but her people on _Galactica _had turned out in force for the first Cylon service ever to be held on a Colonial vessel. Hundreds of Cylons stood before her with bowed heads, their hearts and minds seeking the One True God … seeking deliverance from sins only recently acknowledged. D'Anna noted the sprinkling of humans in their midst. Some she recognized … the ones that had come out of a sense of obligation. Simon O'Neill had brought his wife and human daughter, as Sharon Agathon had brought her husband. The Adamas were there, both father and son, Shelly and Creusa at their side. But there were others whom she did not know … curiosity seekers, perhaps, but it didn't really matter. Every journey, she reflected, must begin with a first step.

"… And we pray, Father, that You will continue to guide and protect this tiny fleet, and to fill the hearts of all those who sail upon the dark seas of Your greatest creation with Your divine love. In this we pray together, our hearts uplifted as one. . . ."

"Thank you, D'Anna; that was simple, but it moved my heart." Shelly turned to her husband. "Bill, is there anything in our faith that you find disturbing or threatening?"

"No," Adama answered. "Some convictions transcend the divides that separate us. D'Anna's is a message that we all need to hear from time to time. It is of value to believer and non-believer alike."

Bill turned to address the Three. "D'Anna, please consider this deck at your disposal. And I hope that you will continue to welcome humans to your services. If you wish to post notices throughout the ship, you may do so."

"Thank you, Admiral, but you should know that we do not gather on a regular basis. We are drawn together by some unspoken consensus. Somehow, our collective knows when it is time …"

D'Anna turned to acknowledge a middle-aged human woman standing to her left. She was not in uniform, so Three decided that she must be a civilian visitor to the ship.

The woman visibly paused, and then she extended her hand. D'Anna took it.

"That was a beautiful service," the woman said. "Your message is surprisingly similar to the tenets of my own Isis faith, and it would not be out of place at a gathering of Mithraic followers. Have you ever studied the cult of Isis?"

"No," Diana admitted. "I thought that all humans either denied God, like Admiral Adama, or worshipped an entire pantheon of divinities."

"No, no, no," the lady interjected. "The divine power that governs all our lives shows its face to us in many different ways. Some are comfortable with a goddess who protects and nurtures us, others with a god who counsels humility and restraint. Still others look to the gods for assistance in their daily lives. I grant you that there is some intolerance in our midst, but most of us are content to allow people to explore the nature of the divine on their own terms. Surely, acknowledging the importance of a higher power in our lives is what matters, not the particular form that divinity takes in our individual minds. D'Anna, I earnestly hope that you will attend our worship of Isis; we would welcome the opportunity to share our belief in the Goddess with you."

. . .

When they walked into the forward lounge, the Six with no name casually sauntered across to the bar. She positioned herself on a stool near the barman, and then turned so that she could lean her back against the counter and scan the room. Natalie and Galen stopped just inside the door, flanking it. The three of them were unarmed, and likewise John Bierns. The spook sat down at a table in the center of the room, and waited for Eric Phelan to dismiss two of his many young and attractive female companions. Bierns was there to negotiate, but very much on his own terms. This was going to be strictly a take it or leave it deal.

"What can I do for you, Major?" Phelan's tone was measured and calm. He sat down at a table near the wall while three of his henchmen formed a loose semicircle around Bierns. There were no guns in evidence, but John figured that there were enough of them scattered around the lounge to put a serious dent in somebody's day.

"Mr. Phelan," John said, "I thought that it was about time for us to meet face to face." John very slowly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the bag of cubits. Phelan's henchmen all instinctively reached for the guns hidden on their persons—information that the Six duly noted. Everyone seemed to be right-handed, and that would make taking them down a lot easier.

John tossed the bag onto the table in front of the gangster, who eyed it with studied disinterest. "I believe that these are yours," he noted. "The message that preceded them was misunderstood, and an unnecessary tragedy resulted. I wanted to bring both of the principal parties together, and make sure that this doesn't happen again." John looked over his shoulder at Galen Tyrol.

Phelan glanced briefly at the Chief, but quickly returned his attention to Bierns.

"'Mr. Phelan'," he mused. "I like that." Phelan pursed his fat lips. "It shows respect. Respect is good."

"I agree," John said. "I know that you've worn the uniform, so you know what the men and women on _Galactica _go through every day to keep this fleet safe. Mr. Phelan, I trust that you respect Chief Tyrol because without people like him there wouldn't be a fleet, and you wouldn't be sitting here contemplating the scale of today's profits from your many enterprises. I have no objection to profit, but our safety has to come first. The Sixes aren't out there to subvert your market; they're trading for parts that the Chief needs to build more fighters … to keep this fleet safe."

Phelan made a show of considering the major's words before responding.

"I am not sure that another fighter or two will make any difference in the broad scheme of things. What I do know is that this fleet does not have a functioning economy. Despite the President's objections, the fleet needs us. If rationing is too tight or a ship comes in too late, we're the pressure valve. We provide. Without us, people would have nowhere to turn. The fleet would tear itself apart. Appearances to the contrary, Major Bierns, I am not greedy. Our margins are tight, and there is simply no room for competition."

"And what about those children outside? How does trafficking in children help the fleet?"

"Everyone has needs," Phelan reasonably pointed out. "Some settle for cigars and liquor … others are more … demanding. It's hard to find the moral high ground, Major, when we're all standing in the mud."

Bierns slid to his feet, which caused guns to surface all over the room.

"I didn't come alone. There's an entire squad of centurions out there, and I've been updating their killing techniques. How does being drawn and quartered sound to you, Mr. Phelan? That's what's waiting for you and your friends … if this all goes south. So, let's make a deal. You tell me what the Sixes have been costing you, and Chief Tyrol will make it good out of his product. Commander Six over there will guarantee you a reasonable profit on every future transaction … say fifteen percent? But I need you to agree to two things in return. First, no hard drugs. The last thing this fleet needs is a serious addiction problem on top of everything else. Second, no more trafficking, not in humans, not in Cylons … it ends now. You release those children out there, and you give me the names and locations of every child that you have already sold in this fleet. If you agree, then the rest of your business goes on as usual, and I'll undertake to keep Adama and Roslin out of your hair. Because you're right … Roslin lives in a fantasyland. Nobody can prevent a black market from springing up, and nobody should. But it needs limits, Mr. Phelan. There's lines you can't cross in the pursuit of profit—and you've crossed them."

"Sorry, but the children have all been paid for. We don't give refunds, and we certainly don't disclose the names of clients who keep to their end of the bargain. I'm a businessman, Major, and what you have just suggested would be very bad for business."

"I've made you a fair offer, Mr. Phelan. Accept it, and you live. The slate's wiped clean. Natalie won't like it, but she'll agree to it … won't you?"

"Yes," she said through gritted teeth.

"But if you turn it down, you won't leave this room alive."

"No." Phelan countered; his tone was as calm and certain as always.

"Then I guess we find out who's got stones around here." John turned and walked up to one of Phelan's men. He planted his chest against the barrel of the outstretched gun. "What are you waiting for? Do it!"

"Wait," Phelan ordered, and the gunman turned his head to look at his boss.

Bierns chopped down viciously on the would-be killer's right wrist, paralyzing the nerves in his right hand. As the gun began to drop, the spook swept it into his hand, turned, and pointed the barrel at Eric Phelan's head.

Phelan steepled his hands thoughtfully, and then he climbed slowly to his feet.

"Major, we both know that you're not going to shoot," Phelan calmly remarked. "You're not like me."

"You're right," Bierns mildly agreed; "I'm about ten times worse."

John pulled the trigger, and shot Eric Phelan in the forehead. He waited for the gangster's body to come to rest, and then shot him again. He knew that the second bullet wasn't really necessary, but the double tap was a deeply engrained part of his training, and the weight of the gun told him that he wasn't exactly short of ammunition.

Behind the bar, one of Phelan's more muscular henchmen had lowered his head and was reaching for a weapon when Six pivoteded on her stool, stretched across the counter, and took hold of his shoulder. "You don't want to do that," she casually admonished.

"Frak you," the muscleman glared.

"Perhaps some other time," Six politely responded—and then she violently jerked. The goon screamed in agony as his shoulder was ripped out of its socket.

Six looked around the lounge. "Anyone else?" Her voice was excruciatingly polite. "No?" She was visibly disappointed.

"Natalie," Bierns asked without removing his eyes from Phelan's corpse, "is this enough justice for you, or do you want more?"

"It will do for now," the Six answered. There was a fierce gleam in her eyes.

"Then may I suggest that you go and free the children?"

"With pleasure," Natalie replied; "the centurion won't find that hatch much of a challenge." Natalie had started to turn away, but John called her back.

"Natalie? What you've repeatedly said about taking refugees on board the baseship… did you mean it?"

"Yes, of course." Natalie looked at John, waiting for him to say more.

"Melpomene Meacham has now lost both of her parents. She has nowhere to go, and she's by no means the only one. Right now, these children have no one to cling to except each other. If you truly want to help, this is the place to start."

Ashamed that she hadn't thought of the idea herself, Natalie bowed her head. "Thank you, John," she said when she looked up; "if the President consents, we shall give them all a home … a good home."

Bierns swiveled to confront Phelan's henchmen. "My offer is still on the table," he said. "The fleet relies on the black market. Much as Roslin might like it all to disappear, the ugly truth is that we can't let that happen. Accept what I've proposed, and you're still in business. But if there are any more 'messages', if you start playing games with essential medicines … next time I won't play nice. Next time I'll let my brothers amuse themselves by tearing this ship apart. Centurions are very meticulous, and I don't think you'd like dealing with them up close and personal."

John glanced at the Six with no name, and smiled to himself. There was a very lethal killing machine inside that jaded exterior, and she was clearly aching to pounce. He reckoned that anyone who so much as coughed would have his head ripped from his spine.

"Six will be monitoring your operation on my behalf, but she will also make sure that Chief Tyrol and the Cylons live up to their end of the bargain. Let's all pray that we don't have to go through this again."

John headed for the door, but paused as he was about to exit the lounge. "Oh, one last thing. The names and locations of every child Phelan sold into slavery. You have precisely sixty minutes to generate the paperwork and place it in Six's hands. After that … well, let's just say that the centurions will show up to help you look."

. . .

Galen Tyrol looked up and down the corridor—and in either direction there was not a soul to be seen. Natalie had spoken to the children through the porthole, explained what was about to happen, and pleaded with them to remain calm. Personally, the Chief would have preferred not to use a centurion to tear the hatch out, but he understood the major's reasoning. Bierns was sending a message to the black marketers, and it couldn't get any more blatant than what was about to happen here. Before life returned to something approximating normal on the _Prometheus_, someone would have to deal with the mess that the tall, red-eyed machine was about to create.

The centurion gripped the edge of the porthole with one set of talons, and found purchase along the edge of the hatch with the other. The machine appeared barely to exert itself; with a loud screech of protesting metal, the hatch was ripped out and indifferently cast aside.

Shevon was through the opening before the hatch had even come to rest. She landed on her knees, and pulled Paya into her arms.

"Oh, gods … oh, gods … oh, gods," she kept crying, as she crushed the little girl to her bosom.

Natalie and Galen went through the door right behind her, but Natalie pulled up short. It wasn't until she actually saw the children that the full horror of what had been happening in the fleet truly hit her. One little girl was wearing pajamas, and Natalie surmised that she had been stolen from her bed. Another was wearing a pretty pink dress; Natalie knew that this was Melpomene Meacham, and she did not envy John the terrible task of trying to explain to a six year old girl that her father was dead.

"Galen, _they're children_! How can human beings do this to their children?" Mercifully, Natalie didn't expect to receive an answer, so she didn't press him for an explanation that he could not possibly offer.

Natalie fell to her knees before the tiniest of all the children, a little girl who was holding an old rag doll in one hand.

"Hi," Natalie said in the softest voice that she could manufacture. "My name's Natalie … what's yours?"

"Pyrrha," the little girl shyly responded.

"How old are you, Pyrrha?"

The child slowly held up four fingers.

"You're four?"

Pyrrha nodded her head, and right then and there Natalie Faust came to a decision. She no longer cared what Laura Roslin would say. If the children had family, she would reunite them; otherwise, she would take them home. The Cylons would raise them as their own.

She reached out to run her fingers gently through the child's softly curled blond tresses. She sensed John and Six enter the chamber behind her, and saw their First Born kneel down in front of Melpomene.

"Where's my daddy," Melpomene asked. The girl was very frightened, and Natalie dreaded John's answer.

"Daddy's gone to live with mommy, Melpomene, but don't worry because they both love you very, very much. You'll see them again, I promise you; later, when you're much, much older, you'll see them again."

"And Aunt Six?" The child's eyes had grown to the size of small moons.

"I don't know," John admitted. "Why don't we all go home, and see if she's waiting for you?" There was no way to tell in advance whether Melpomene would be able to distinguish between her Six and the many others who were identical to her in every physical respect … but John suspected that a small child would easily see what adults might just as easily miss.

Natalie scooped Pyrrha into her arms, and stood up.

"Six," John suggested, "perhaps you and Sergeant Mathias should keep the centurions with you. You may need their support." He looked at her steadily, and she understood that his real aim was to avoid upsetting the children. Introducing the little ones to centurions would always be a matter of extreme delicacy.

With Natalie and Pyrrha leading the way, the children filed slowly down the corridor to the Heavy Raider that would carry them to their new home.

. . .

They had no cribs, no small beds … no clothing for children … they had nothing to offer except hot food and the uncertain prospect of being cared for by machines who knew nothing of child rearing.

Natalie Faust laid Pyrrha to rest in her own very large bed. She knew no lullabies, and no bedtime stories. But she remembered Virgon well, and so she described the blue of its skies, the fleecy white of its clouds, and the vivid greens and browns of its forests and fields. And in time the enthralled child fell to sleep.

Natalie awoke with a start in the middle of the night. She needed no clock to tell her that she had awakened fully three hours before that particular subroutine should have kicked in. She received a second shock when she turned her head to the left. Pyrrha was kneeling at her side, still clutching her rag doll. She was staring at Natalie with solemn eyes, and the Six experienced the oddest sensation as she gazed into their depths. She sensed God's presence in the child's heart, and she knew with utter certainty that this was the moment when He would render His judgment upon her immortal soul.

"Are you my new mommy," Pyrrha innocently asked.

"Yes," Natalie whispered as she once again ran her fingers lovingly through the child's hair. "Yes … and you're my daughter … my beautiful, beautiful daughter. Now, come to sleep!"

Pyrrha nestled up tightly against her. Natalie could feel the warmth of the child's body pressed against her beating heart, and she wrapped her arms lightly around the little girl to hold her close. Slowly, almost reluctantly, the Cylon mother and her human daughter returned to sleep.


	19. Chapter 19: Epiphanies

CHAPTER 19

EPIPHANIES

As he walked the length of _Colonial One_, John Bierns began mentally to catalog the ways in which an intruder on these decks might draw immediate attention to himself. _Let's see. A guy could run the security gauntlet brandishing a gun and shouting "death to the tyrant!" That would assuredly do the trick. Running through the cabin in the nude? Hmm, how about running naked down the corridor with gun in hand, shouting "death to the tyrant?" Nah … only Kara would be crazy enough to do something like that. Never mind. Showing up with a blood splattered centurion in tow also seems to work quite nicely._

It was very much to their credit, John conceded, that the President's security detail actually moved to block his path. It was a stupid gesture, even a suicidal one, but the four men would not have been doing their jobs if they hadn't made some attempt to stop him. John's imminent meeting with Roslin was strictly unscheduled, and he had brought the centurion along to pass another message, but he had no desire to see blood on the carpet.

"Gentlemen" John said to the security officers, "I'm here to see the President. My friend is here to make sure that we're not disturbed." Without waiting for a reply, Bierns plunged through the curtain into the President's makeshift office.

Billy Keikeya and a dark skinned female advisor whom John had never met were dancing attendance upon Laura Roslin. Files were scattered all over the President's desk, which struck the hybrid as merely fitting: he was here to toss one more onto the pile. But his was for Roslin's eyes only.

"Excuse me, Billy … Miss … but I need a few minutes of the President's time." Bierns held up the thin file that he was carrying in his left hand so that the three of them could see it. "Alone, if you please. Billy, I left a centurion outside. Would you see to it that he doesn't wander off?"

Roslin gave the spook a hard look as he settled into a chair on the opposite side of her desk. She decided to take the offensive.

"So, I'm told that you executed Eric Phelan. You offered him a way out, he didn't take it … and you shot him on the spot. Is that what happened?"

"Yes. I regret the loss. Phelan wasn't particularly greedy, and he was actually quite efficient. I could have easily made a case for putting him on the Quorum. But he overreached. He was dealing in hard drugs, and he was trafficking. I don't take selling children into slavery lightly."

"No," Roslin noted as she got up and wandered away from her desk, "I don't imagine that you would."

Bierns casually tossed his file onto her desk. "The Six was very conscientious. She saw the pattern, and she began to ask questions. Given enough time, she would have got to the bottom of it. But she didn't understand that, sooner or later, she was going to ask the wrong person. And they killed her. Two honorable people died because she asked one too many questions. She missed eight, Madame President. She missed seven little girls and one little boy, ages four through nine. Unfortunately for the buyers, Eric Phelan kept meticulous records. You know what struck me as odd? It was one thing for Phelan to take the children off the grid, but keeping them off? That was something else. In a fleet hungry for gossip, the buyers had to have a lot of clout to keep the children below the DRADIS screen. How did they manage it? Well, it certainly helped that this fleet has no policing arm … no judiciary … no nothing. Is that a coincidence, Madam President? Is it a coincidence that two of the eight people on this list are members of the Quorum? I'm sitting here wondering: did you shield them, Madame President?"

"_How dare you!"_ Laura Roslin was livid with rage; she picked up the file, glanced at the names, and threw it in Bierns' face. _"How dare you!"_

"Oh, please, spare me the theatrics. With Phelan dead, arguably the only person in this fleet with less moral scruples than me would be … why … it would be you, Madame President. You can be utterly ruthless when you want to be, so don't even pretend that you're above looking the other way. You'd blackmail them, lock up their votes, and convince yourself that it was just another part of the price to be paid to get us all to Earth. No, Madame President, in my mind the only thing in doubt is whether you actually knew what was going on."

"And what about you, Major? You didn't bring a centurion here to kill us, or we wouldn't be having this conversation. So what's the point? Is it raw intimidation? Are you ordering me to look the other way while you consolidate your grip on the black market? That strikes me as far too pedestrian for your ambitions. No, you're telling me that you can barge into my office anytime you want, but I can't fathom why you'd bother. My door is always open to you."

"I'm here to give you a choice, Madame President. Do you want to be the dying leader of Pythia, or do you want to live a long and fulfilling life?"

"What are you saying?"

"That my blood has no antigens, Madame President, which makes me a universal donor. Doctor Baltar seems to think that I'm carrying the cure to your cancer inside my veins. Well, you can have it, Madame President … but it's going to cost you."

"Cost me? What … the vice-presidency? Do you think I'm stupid? How long before you would make me disappear … twenty hours … twenty days? It wouldn't be long!"

"Really, Laura … you see far too much of yourself in me." Bierns looked at her with undisguised contempt. "I don't give a frak about politics … I never have. You and Zarek … you can have this dog and pony show." Bierns picked up the scattered pieces of paper, stacked them neatly inside the folder, and pointedly placed it on the desk in front of the President. "I could kill these bastards, but it would be messy. So, I want eight warrants, because I plan to arrest the lot of them. You are going to set up a legal system, we are going to prosecute these monsters, and then we are going to airlock them … in full view of the press. And if I _ever_ discover that you were complicit in the sexual exploitation of these children … but for now, Laura, you get a pass. You should weigh your options carefully. If you die, then Baltar becomes president, and we have an election that pits Baltar against Zarek. What will that do to your much desired place in history?"

Laura Roslin placed her palms flat on her desk, and then she leaned forward to challenge the spook, the anger still fresh inside of her. "You think it's easy, don't you? Just wave a magic wand, and poof … a full-blown legal system emerges out of thin air. Well, it doesn't work that way, Major. We don't have any police _because none survived_. We don't have any judges _because none survived_. You want to prosecute these people? Well, fine … but tell me, under whose jurisdiction? Caprica? Tauron? Gemenon? We don't have a unified criminal law code …"

"Damn it, Laura, quit equivocating! Pick a colony … hell, pick Caprica since you're Caprican … and put out an announcement. Effective immediately, Caprican law both civil and criminal becomes the operative legal framework for this fleet …"

"And what do I do when Sarah Porter comes storming into this office? On Caprica, a minor can have an abortion without parental consent, but on Gemenon the decision lies solely with her parents. Major, there's a reason why we haven't touched these issues! A fleet that is struggling daily just to survive doesn't need to be torn apart by this sort of divisiveness. This is not the time …"

"So, what are you proposing? That we skate by without any laws? None of these fine distinctions seemed to matter very much when you and Wallace Gray got together and hammered out a uniform education policy for the fleet. Sorry, Madame President, but it seems to me that of late you've fallen into the politician's habit of making the easy calls but ducking the hard ones. We need a legal system, and that's all there is to it. You would be well advised to take advantage of this opportunity … show the people that there is still such a thing as justice, and that it applies to the high and the mighty no less than it does to the weakest and most vulnerable among us. Or would you prefer me to inform the fleet that children are being bought and sold as sex slaves, but we can't do anything about it because the President is afraid that imposing a system of law would cost her a few votes in the upcoming election?"

"Intimidation … extortion … congratulations, Major, you appear to be eminently qualified to run the black market. Very well, you'll have your legal system. I don't know how we'll overcome the lack of judges, but we'll play this farce out to your satisfaction. Is there anything else," she added venomously.

"Yes, one other thing. I want adoption guidelines and adoption papers in my hands before you retire for the evening. Natalie wants to adopt one of the children for whom you're showing such tender regard … and you're going to make it happen."

. . .

D'Anna Biers quietly approached the woman's bed. Simon had just explained that the cancer had metastasized to her liver less than a week before. Death would soon claim her; it was a matter of days now, and perhaps only a matter of hours. D'Anna sensed death's presence all around her. It was in the cubicle, a cold breath with a dank odor that she could feel on the back of her neck.

She was here, she understood, by invitation. She had been working with Dualla in the CIC when the summons came, and the admiral had been gracious enough to allow her to drop everything and hasten to the woman's side. Emily Perrida's capacity for forgiveness awed the Three. She knew that Emily had lost a husband and two daughters in the attacks, and yet in her final hours she was turning for comfort not to one of her own priests or priestesses but to a Cylon. D'Anna was determined to offer what solace she could before she retired to contemplate the many layers of guilt and shame that enmeshed her soul. _Genocide._ How could her people have been so foolish? And how could the Threes have so easily persuaded themselves that mass murder was an act of compassion?

"Hi, Emily … I'm D'Anna. I understand that you wanted to see me." D'Anna pulled up a chair, and sat down.

"Yes. Thank you for coming. Simon was telling me about your sermon … about your beliefs. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to attend. I would have liked to hear you speak, but the Doc says that I won't be leaving this bed anytime soon. Actually, you know … he's wrong. It won't be long now and I'll be … gone." Emily offered D'Anna a wan smile. She tried to laugh, but she started coughing instead.

D'Anna quickly stood and gently raised the woman so that she could massage her back. "Are you all right? Can I get you some water?"

Emily reached out and patted the Three on her arm. "Actually," she said, "what I'd really like is a brand new body … one of those Sixes would suit me just fine. I've always wondered what I'd look like as a blond."

D'Anna smiled, and lowered Emily back onto her pillows.

"I'm glad you could come," Emily continued, "because I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to share something with you. A dream. Only it was too real … it had to be something more tangible than a dream. It felt like … I don't know … a rehearsal? It felt like I was being prepared … comforted … so that I wouldn't be so afraid."

D'Anna sat down, and clasped Emily's hand. It should have been warm, but to D'Anna it felt ice cold.

"I was on a ferry crossing a river, and as we were approaching the other side I saw all these people standing on the bank. When we got close enough, I recognized them. My parents were there … my sister, who died when I was little … my husband, my girls. I was scared for a moment … you know … how is this happening? But then I felt it … this presence. It was hovering all around me; it was warm … so loving … and it said 'don't be scared, Emily. I'm with you. Hold my hand and we'll cross over together'."

"You felt the presence of God," D'Anna quietly observed. "But He has always been there for you: each of us is a spark of God's fire. Sadly, though, we only seem to sense His presence when we let go … when we surrender ourselves to the stream."

"The stream? D'Anna, it was _so real_. I felt the cool breeze coming from the water, the spray from the bow. I was there … the stream … the river that separates our world from the next …"

"God spoke directly to you, Emily. He wanted you to know that there's more to our existence than what we can see with the naked eye. We are meant to have faith … to understand that there's a power at work in the universe that is beyond the reach of our reason."

"Is He the Cylon God?"

"Once," D'Anna acknowledged, "I believed it to be so. But no more. The One True God belongs to all of us. We are all His children … His creations."

"You know, I never believed in the Lords of Kobol. Capricious, vindictive, quarrelsome, adulterous gods and goddesses reigning from a metaphysical mountaintop in those silly outfits … Zeus dispensing our fates out of an urn like they were so many lottery tickets." Emily chuckled. "You're going to be President of the Colonies and you're going to be a deck hand on a tylium refinery ship. I might as well have believed that my daughter was going to be kidnapped by almighty Zeus himself and transformed into a swan. Pathetic … the Lords of Kobol never had anything to offer me."

"You saw them for what they were, Emily. The gods are nothing more than idols drawn from the human imagination … larger than life but cursed with all the flaws of their makers. No love, no compassion, no forgiveness … none of it is real."

"You left out hope, D'Anna. Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos … they determine our fates, measure everything out in advance. The virtuous and the vicious, it makes no difference … we are all bound to Ixion's wheel." Emily squeezed D'Anna's hand. "It's odd, don't you think, that we should worship gods who are so mechanical, while you follow a God who is so humane?"

"Perhaps," D'Anna replied. "But we are a young race, and we have not yet cultivated a taste for power and wealth. Perhaps we sense God's presence so strongly because in so many ways we still see through the eyes of children."

The following morning, D'Anna rose early so that she could go and visit Emily, but she stopped short when she entered the cubicle. The hospital bed was empty, the sheets stripped away. Emily Perrida was gone.

. . .

"Mr. Gaeta, why aren't you at your station? You spend so much time at tactical that I'm beginning to think you have a crush on Sharon!"

Saul Tigh was irritated. He was prepared to concede that Shelly, Lydia, and the Six had the nav console firmly under control, but no one had actually banished Felix Gaeta from his bailiwick, and junior officers weren't supposed to meander about without orders.

"Well, XO," Gaeta replied, "Sharon and I are trying to design a new weapon …"

"A new weapon? Why haven't I heard about this? Does the admiral know?"

"Yes, sir." Gaeta looked curiously at the XO. "Admiral Adama gave us the go-ahead four days ago."

"Well, nobody told me," Tigh gruffly remarked.

"I'm sorry, sir. It must have slipped the admiral's mind. He does have a lot on his plate these days … wouldn't you agree?" Felix favored Tigh with the most neutral expression that he could muster.

Tigh nodded vigorously in agreement. "That's true, Lieutenant … that's very true. Now, why don't the two of you tell me what you're up to … then all three of us will know."

"Yes, sir. As you're well aware, the Cylons love to initiate attacks by sending a computer virus our way. We're trying to return the favor. We're building a logic bomb that hopefully will distract the hybrids on enemy baseships and degrade their effectiveness … _plus _we're trying to come up with a virus that will take Cavil's Raiders and centurions off line."

"Are you making any progress?"

"Yes, sir. We can't field test the logic bomb, but we can try the virus out on one of the baseship's Raiders. We should have a test protocol in place within a few days. It would go faster, sir, if you tasked Doctor Baltar to work with us."

"_Baltar?" _Tigh snorted derisively. "Lieutenant, I'll trust the two of you over that slimy son of a bitch any day. Gaius frakking Baltar indeed …" The colonel retreated to the central console, leaving Sharon and Felix to get on with it.

. . .

"Action stations, action stations. Set condition one throughout the ship. This is not a drill. Repeat … action stations, action stations."

"What have we got, Colonel?" Helena Cain entered the CIC and began quickly to scan the overhead DRADIS screen.

"Admiral," Colonel Fisk replied, "we have multiple bogies, CBDR, at extreme DRADIS range. There are two large ships in the mix. From the size of them, I'd say that we're dealing with a pair of Cylon baseships plus assorted support vehicles. It could be another supply convoy. I've dispatched Red Team to go in and take a closer look."

. . .

"_Galactica, _this is Sonja. I'm outbound to the target; Kat's on my wing. We estimate one minute to intercept; the balance of Red Squadron will join up in less than thirty seconds."

"Sonja, we roger your outbound," Dualla acknowledged. "Be advised that Blue Squadron is out the gate and will take station on your six in three minutes. Wait one." Dualla looked over at Lydia Janks.

"The unknown is launching Raiders …" Lydia frowned. "That's strange. It can't be more than one squadron."

"Sonja, you have Raiders inbound," Dee warned, "but at squadron strength. Watch your nine and three. This could be a trap!"

"Colonel Tigh," Adama calmly inquired, "what are we looking at?" The admiral had been in his quarters discussing a matter of extreme political delicacy with Laura Roslin, and the two of them had only now reached the CIC.

"We have one large ship inbound, CBDR, now down to 1700. They've launched Raiders, and we've sent two squadrons out to shoo them away. Shall we order the baseship to start throwing its weight around?"

"How long till the fleet can execute an emergency jump," Roslin wanted to know.

"It'll take another two minutes," Tigh calculated, "maybe a bit less."

. . .

"Uh … _Pegasus_ … this is Stinger. There's something strange going on out here. We have a Heavy Raider inbound, with a Viper on its wing. I'm also picking up a lot of ship to ship squawks; Admiral, it's the usual kind of pilots' chatter!"

"Excuse me, Admiral," Lieutenant Hoshi cut in. "I'm picking up Colonial transponders. Sir, that's a colonial fleet out there!"

. . .

"_Colonial?"_ Roslin could hardly believe it.

Tigh didn't. "Hell," he said in absolute disgust, "now they're using our own signals against us!"

"Maybe." Adama was staring fixedly at the DRADIS screen above his head. _Why would a baseship send out only one Raider squadron? Something doesn't add up here. _"Sharon, weapons hold," he suddenly ordered. "Dee, hold the jump too."

"Aye, sir. All ships, this is _Galactica_ … hold jump. I say again … hold jump."

"Now give me ship to ship," Adama ordered, "Colonial priority one channel. Send hostile challenge and then put their reply up on the speakers."

"Attention, unknown vessel," Dualla intoned. "This is the battlestar _Galactica_. Identify yourself, or we will fire upon you."

. . .

"_Galactica_? Admiral, this has to be a trap," Fisk warned. "The entire fleet was destroyed."

"We don't know that for a fact," Helena countered. "Mr. Hoshi, put me on speaker …"

"This is the battlestar _Pegasus_ to the ship claiming to be the _Galactica_. Please respond."

. . .

"Bill," Tigh said in an astonished voice, "is that who I think it is?"

"It sure sounds like her," Adama curtly responded. "Dee, give me direct contact …"

"_Pegasus_, this is _Galactica _Actual. Authenticate identity with recognition codes immediately."

"Sir," Dualla interjected, "I'm receiving Colonial recognition codes; they're authentic."

"_Galactica_, this is _Pegasus_ Actual. Bill … is that you?"

"Admiral Cain," Adama responded, "what a pleasure to hear your voice. Welcome to the Colonial fleet. At your leisure, the President and I would be pleased if you would join us. Our Vipers will escort you onto the deck … hands on approach, portside landing bay."

"Excuse me, Commander, but I'm having a very hard time digesting what my pilots are eyeballing out there. I've tried pinching myself … even rubbing my eyes. Maybe I'm fast asleep and this is nothing more than an especially vivid dream."

"I doubt it, Admiral … particularly in your case. It's been my experience that officers with your degree of dedication always sleep with one eye open. The rebel baseship to which you are undoubtedly referring is now part of the Colonial chain of command."

"Very well, Commander. I'll be in your portside hangar bay in half an hour. _Pegasus _Actual out."

Helena turned to Colonel Fisk. "Jack, I don't know what we're dealing with here. Adama doesn't appear to be under duress, but what the hell is a Cylon baseship doing in a colonial fleet? I want you to keep Red Team out there in a loose defensive formation. And I want Blue Team in the tubes and ready to launch. If this turns out to be an elaborate Cylon trap, your orders are to engage if necessary, but get _Pegasus_ clear and continue carrying the fight to them at every opportunity. Captain Shaw, you'll accompany me to _Galactica_: you had better put on your dress blues for this one."

. . .

"Come on, people, this isn't recess. Form ranks and look sharp," the XO barked. "Apollo, Starbuck … it's nice of you to show up."

"Sorry, Colonel," Starbuck replied with her usual mock innocence, "but we were a little busy out there … you know … getting ready to fend off an imminent attack on the fleet?"

"Right …"

Whatever Tigh had been about to say next was interrupted by the sound of the _Pegasus _Raptor's ramp lowering to the deck. "Group, ten-hut," the XO shouted with a grimace. He knew that _Galactica's _human crew would pass inspection, but the Cylon's weren't long on ceremony, and they certainly weren't about to salute Admiral Helena Cain. Saul Tigh knew that the admiral's mother and father had both been killed on Tauron during the First Cylon War, and that her sister had been carried off as a prisoner. Cain's hatred of all things cylon was legendary within fleet command, and the XO was privately convinced that this meeting was accordingly doomed from the outset. He was also certain that Bill Adama's "promotion" to the rank of admiral would not go down well—especially when Cain learned that it was occasioned by the arrival of the Cylon baseship in their midst.

Tigh watched as two hulking, heavily armed marines stepped out of the Raptor and took up positions at the bottom of the ramp. Their eyes locked onto Shelly Adama, and both men began instinctively to bring their heavy assault rifles to bear. But Sergeant Brandy Harder, who was still responsible for Shelly's security, was way ahead of them.

"Don't," she said as she pointed her own assault weapon at the head of the marine standing closest to her. She sensed rather than saw Nathaniel Ferris line the second marine up in his sights.

"All right … that's enough! All of you … as you were!" Bill stepped directly in front of the first marine. "Sergeant Harder, Private Ferris," he ordered without turning his head, "lower your weapons. As for you two … don't even think about pointing your guns at anyone on these decks. Now, stand to!"

The two _Pegasus _marines reluctantly complied, allowing Bill to resume his place at Shelly's side.

A young female officer, who had paused in the hatchway silently to observe the drama unfolding below, now stepped down from the Raptor and stood stiffly to attention. Her head didn't move, but her eyes darted back and forth between Shelly and Natalie before they finally came to rest on the Cylon leader.

When Helena Cain emerged from the Raptor, she paused at the top of the ramp long enough to scan the assembled throng. She had never seen an Eight before, but with more than half a dozen of them scattered across the deck, she quickly deduced that this was still another Cylon model. Then Cain caught sight of Shelly, who was standing immediately to Adama's right, and her body went rigid. The Cylon appeared identical in every respect to the absurdly dressed blond who had boarded _Pegasus_ in the battle at the communications relay station, and who was now a permanent resident in the battlestar's morgue. The sight of still another of Gina's "sisters" standing alongside _Galactica's_ commanding officer made her skin crawl.

She stepped off the ramp and finally turned her attention to William Adama.

"Comman …" Helena froze in mid-word as she caught sight of the insignia pinned to Adama's collar. She quickly stood to attention, and offered him a formal salute. "Admiral Adama, I apologize. I was unaware of your promotion." Cain and Adama were both rear admirals, but among flag officers of equal rank, it was customary for the visiting officer to initiate the salute.

Adama returned hers with one of his own. "As well you should be," he quietly commented. "It's quite recent." He raised his voice so that he could be heard throughout the bay and told everyone to stand at ease.

Bill turned slightly to his left. "Admiral, allow me to present to you the President of the Colonies, Laura Roslin."

"It's a long story," Roslin said as she noted the quizzical expression on Cain's face. "Welcome."

"Madame President, it's a pleasure …" Helena looked over Roslin's shoulder, and spotted a familiar face. "Doctor Baltar?"

"Yes," he replied as he eased forward to shake her hand. "It's good to see you again, Admiral."

"Doctor Baltar is the Vice-President of the Colonies," Adama interjected. Then he directed Cain's attention to a young woman standing some distance to the left of Laura Roslin. "This is Commander Natalie Six. She runs the rebel baseship, and we have also formally recognized her as the Cylon head of state."

Helena Cain slowly turned her head to take in the Cylon leader, who was holding a small child in her arms.

"Admiral," Natalie said.

Cain blanched, and took an involuntary step backward. _No! Dear gods, no! This can't be … it can't! It isn't possible!_ Cain felt as if she had just been sucker punched, but she recovered quickly.

"Commander," she responded in a carefully neutral tone that was devoid of any hint of the emotional storm that had begun to rage inside her.

"And finally," Adama added, "I would like you to meet my wife, Shelly, who also doubles as the Cylon ambassador to the fleet."

"You married a Cylon?" Mentally, Cain kicked herself for her lack of self-control. _Everyone in the hangar bay, _she thought, _must have heard the incredulity in my voice. But still … talk about collaborating with the enemy! I wonder … how much power do the Cylons wield in this fleet?_

"Yes," Adama affirmed. "And we have a child on the way." The admiral was wearing his best Triad face, but inwardly he was enjoying Cain's obvious discomfiture. Keeping her off balance might just prevent a potentially explosive situation from blowing up in their collective faces.

"Well, congratulations, Madame Ambassador," Cain awkwardly said. Overcoming her distaste, she reached out to shake Shelly's hand. "I didn't know that machines … uh, excuse me, Cylons … could have children."

"Thank you, Admiral, but please … call me Shelly. We Cylons aren't given to formality." Shelly accessed a particular subroutine, and then fixed Cain with her most dazzling smile. "And yes … three of us are currently pregnant. Oh, and one of the Fours and his human wife are also having a baby. We're on the leading edge of the current population explosion in the fleet."

The admiral was about to reply when a loud, clanking noise diverted her attention. She looked off to her right, and went slack-jawed with astonishment. A pair of Cylon centurions had decided to crash the party. Behind her, the two equally shocked _Pegasus_ marines once again started to raise their assault rifles.

"_Lower your weapons,"_ Adama bellowed. _"They're on our side!"_

"Really, Helena," a reproving voice called out, "I expected your personnel to be better disciplined than this." A gap opened between the two centurions, and another familiar figure stepped into Cain's line of sight. The admiral blinked several times in raw disbelief.

"_Bierns?"_

"Yeah, Helena … it's me, in the flesh; as the admiral said, welcome back to the Colonial fleet!"

"Everybody, stand down," Adama shouted. The crowded hangar bay erupted in cheers as _Galactica's _crew surged forward to meet their new comrades in arms.

. . .

"Major, you travel in interesting company these days." Helena Cain couldn't take her eyes off the two centurions that were flanking John Bierns. "Are they … uh … friends of yours?"

"You might say that," Bierns chuckled. His eyes slid past Cain, which caused the admiral to turn her head. She saw a young, blond woman in uniform making her way towards them.

"Admiral, I'd like you to meet Major Thrace. Kara commands the combined air groups of _Galactica_ and the baseship. The admiral's son, Captain Lee Adama, manages day to day operations over there, while Sonja Six serves as Kara's deputy here on _Galactica_. Integration is very much the order of the day around here."

"Admiral, it is truly an honor to meet you. Words can't adequately convey how happy we all are to see another friendly face."

"Thank you, Major, but I'm sure that right now the feelings on both ships are pretty much the same. Until you showed up on our DRADIS screen … well … let's just say that we didn't expect to find anybody else out here."

"Excuse me, Admiral." A press photographer had come up behind the trio. "This is a great moment! Could I get a picture of the three of you standing together, with the centurions in the background?"

"… all right … now if the three of you would stand a little closer together … and, Major, if you could get the centurions to move forward … there … that's it! Now, Majors, if I could just get a photo of the two of you standing side by side with the centurions immediately behind, then we'll finally have something for the archives."

"… and … that's it! Thank you! I'll run copies for all three of you, and get them out to you later today." The photographer hurried off to capture more of the meet and greet for posterity.

"So, the war's over? We're all one big, happy family now?" Cain's tone was acerbic in the extreme.

"No," Starbuck objected, "we're still at war, but the face of the enemy has changed somewhat … and so have our objectives. I'm sorry, Admiral, but you have stumbled upon a situation that is very, very complicated."

"And Adama's wife … have all of her 'sisters' changed sides?"

"No," John said with regret, "not yet. There's a Cylon civil war underway, Admiral, and the rest of the Sixes are still fighting for the enemy." John saw no reason to share Natasi or any of his other secrets with Helena Cain.

"I'm somewhat relieved to hear it," Cain shot back, "because one of these things infiltrated my crew. It caused hundreds of deaths, and it was still doing everything that it could to destroy us right up to the moment when it was unmasked and captured. Major, I'd like you to examine it as soon as possible … see if you can glean anything from it. We've been working the problem for months, but so far we haven't been able to get anything useful out of it at all. Perhaps you'll have better luck."

"Why bother, Admiral? We have four thousand Cylons in this fleet, and they've given us access to everything."

"Really? Major, I would never have believed you to be so trusting. Viewed from afar, this whole setup looks like a fairly obvious variation on the good cop – bad cop routine. Has it never occurred to you that the Cylons are trying to gain your confidence and win your trust for their own purposes? Perhaps children are what they're after here … perhaps the goal is a more evolved machine. Humans as breeding stock … do you really think that they're above treating us like cattle? No. I want you to interrogate our prisoner, Bierns. We'll keep it isolated from the others so that they can't get their stories straight. Let's see if what you learn agrees with the information that your friends have been so readily sharing."

Starbuck started to speak, but John put a hand on her arm to silence her.

"Very well, Admiral. If you would like to contact your ship and clear us, I'll get started right away. I'll need Gaius Baltar's help on this one, so clear us both. But let's understand one another. You order your crew to cooperate fully … no questions asked. No one interferes with the interrogation. We do this my way, or we don't do it at all."

Cain studied Bierns appraisingly. "Very well, Major; you have a nasty reputation, so we'll do it your way. But I expect results, and sooner would be better than later. I have an intelligence package that I want you to run by the prisoner … and I certainly don't have to remind you that all intelligence is time-sensitive."

. . .

"To posterity's demands." Adama raised his glass, and saluted the others.

Bill and Shelly had invited Laura Roslin, Natalie Faust, and Helena Cain to their quarters for a high-level, private chat. Bill could readily imagine how the current situation appeared to his fellow admiral, but he could not predict her response. He was hoping that privacy- and whiskey- would draw Cain out into the open. If she couldn't accept alliance with the Cylons, he wanted to know it now.

But posterity, in the form of a small cohort of press photographers, did have to be served first. Cameras clicked, flashbulbs popped—and Adama noted with wry amusement that, no matter how much she twisted and turned, Helena Cain continually ended up with Natalie and her adopted daughter all but in her lap. Bill didn't know whether to be encouraged by the fact that Cain had not retreated to her ship at the first opportunity, or discouraged by her obvious loathing for the two Sixes.

"Admiral," Laura Roslin finally said, "there are so many questions that I want to ask. Do you mind if I just dive in?"

"Please, Madame President."

"Thank you. The first and most obvious one is: how did you find us?"

"Well, we were following a large Cylon fleet … two baseships, and about a dozen other vehicles." Cain paused to take a large swallow of whiskey while she looked suspiciously at Natalie, who was cradling her daughter against her shoulder. "We were trying to predict their movements so that we could lay ambushes, but in the beginning everything they were doing seemed so erratic and unplanned that we couldn't find anything to grab onto. It took a while for us to realize that they were jumping into systems that might be resource rich. Once we saw the pattern, we jumped ahead of them. We wanted to locate a system promising enough to draw them in. The idea was to carry out a hit-and-run attack, take out a couple of the support vessels before they could react, and move on. But instead of finding the Cylons, we found you."

"So there's a large fleet travelling in our wake? How far ahead are we … how many jumps?" Bill glanced at Natalie, wondering if the two of them were thinking the same thing. _This isn't the main attack force … this is their rear echelon support!_

"Two … three at the most."

Natalie leaned forward in her seat; the look in her eyes reminded Bill of a predator who had just caught the scent of its next prey.

"Admiral," she said very, very softly, "was there anything about either the ships or the formation that caught your eye?"

Cain nodded. "Yes, there was one large craft that the baseships were clearly protecting … a vessel that we've not encountered before …"

"Can you describe it?"

Cain took another pull on her whiskey, and then reached for the bottle. "I'll have another, if you don't mind."

"We have recon photos of every ship in this convoy; three of them appear to be Colonial vessels dating back to the First Cylon War. There has to be a mining ship in the mix, or the fleet's movements would make no sense at all. Logic suggests that everything else falls into the manufacturing or warehousing category, but this one vehicle just looks strange. It's long and rectangular, and the recon photos … well, it's so transparent that you'd swear it's made out of glass."

Shelly and Natalie both inhaled sharply—sharply enough to draw Roslin's attention. "This ship is important, isn't it?"

"Madame President," Shelly replied, "we won't know for certain until we see the photos, but it sounds like Admiral Cain has stumbled across a … resurrection ship."

"That's the mother lode!" Bill couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice.

"I'm sorry," Helena protested, "but would someone like to tell me what we're talking about here?"

"When a Cylon dies," Shelly explained, "their consciousness downloads into a resurrection facility … but only if there's one within range. Otherwise, death is permanent. Us, the Raiders, the centurions … we all download. For obvious reasons, therefore, our people avoid battle unless they are within reach of a server."

"We are a very long way from the Cylon home world," Natalie added. "Out here, the resurrection ships have to carry the entirety of the load … and at the start of the war there were only three of them tasked to forward operations. One will still be in the Cyrannus system; and now you've located one of the other two …"

"So this is a safety net," Cain mused, "and if they lose it then they're dead … as in really, really dead." She gave Natalie a nasty look. "Oh, I daresay your people won't like that!"

. . .

"You don't want to get too close," Thorne cautioned. "So far, it's killed seven of my crew. Do you want these marines to come in with you?"

"Oh, I think we can manage on our own," Bierns remarked. "Don't you, Gaius?"

"Assuredly, Major. We'll be just fine, Lieutenant … but thank you."

The three men paused outside Gina Inviere's cell. A contented look swept across Alastair Thorne's chubby face. He had broken the robot girl, and his log books detailed exactly how he had gone about it. It was a pity that she had never given them one scrap of useful information, but Thorne was certain that the CSS officer would fare no better. He had requested Thorne's logs, and the lieutenant had been only too pleased to share them.

Bierns and Baltar stared silently at the battered and malnourished Six, who was lying on her side, hands chained behind her back, ankles tethered to the floor. She was dressed, if that was the word for it, in filthy rags. Gaius Baltar was appalled and repulsed by the sight, but he couldn't take his eyes off her. John Bierns slowly clenched and unclenched his fists. He didn't need log books to tell him that Gina had been tortured, and repeatedly raped and sodomized. He had suffered similarly at Cylon hands for a matter of days, but this pitiful creature had been exposed to Thorne's calculated savagery for months. Bierns wondered if the Cylons had seen this same, vacuous look on his face. Had he stared at nothing with these same, sightless eyes? For one of the few times in his life, Bierns found himself praying to a God in whom he did not really believe. He prayed that Gina Inviere's mind was still intact, protected by programming akin to that which had once saved Bierns' own sanity.

"Open the door now, please." Baltar's voice reached John from the bottom of a well.

The two men entered the cell, only to gag and reflexively cover their nostrils. The stench of dried urine, feces, sweat and vomit overwhelmed them. It was obvious that Gina Inviere had not been allowed to bathe since the beginning of her ordeal.

Bierns turned to Thorne and held out his hand. "Give me the keys to her shackles," he ordered.

Thorne raised his eyebrows suggestively, but he handed the keys over without a word. If Baltar and the major wanted to commit suicide, it was none of his business. He locked the cell, and walked off to the far end of the brig. He could see them well enough, but he would never be able to intervene in time to prevent them from becoming the Cylon bitch's eighth and ninth victims. That suited Alastair Thorne just fine because he did not welcome outsiders into his dominion.

Bierns got down on the floor behind Gina and began removing her shackles. "Is she catatonic," he asked bluntly.

Baltar dropped to the floor in front of Gina, and gingerly ran his fingers across her scalp. "There's no obvious sign of head trauma," he commented. He pulled out a pencil shaped light and trained it on her eyes. "There's voluntary eye movement, which suggests conscious thought." Baltar glanced up at Bierns. "My gods, Major, she's clearly been abused … tortured. What kind of animals would do this?"

"Gaius, both of us need to keep in mind that this woman is a spy and saboteur, whom Admiral Cain no doubt rightly holds responsible for the deaths of several hundred _Pegasus_ personnel. There is nothing to indicate that she ever experienced any remorse over their deaths, never mind the billions of other innocent men, women and children who perished in the holocaust. If she ever recovers, we shall probably be confronted with an unrepentant enemy agent who may or may not defect when she learns the truth. Don't allow yourself to become emotionally involved here; this is not Natasi, and you need to keep that fact firmly in mind at all times."

"But is this what we do to prisoners, Major? My gods, is this how we behave?"

"No," Bierns grudgingly conceded. "Cain would have been perfectly within her rights to put her in front of a firing squad, but the moment she entered this cell she became a prisoner of war. The classification carries certain rights with it, and Cain appears systematically to have violated them all. Should she be facing a court martial? Yes … by all means … but it won't happen. Gaius, I'm sorry, but you're looking at one of the uglier realities of war. And the equally ugly truth is that the officers responsible are never held to account. All we can do now is shield her from further abuse … and that's my job, not yours."

Bierns decided that it was time to get Baltar out of the way … and there were things that needed urgently to be done in any event.

"Gaius, I want you to go foraging. See if you can find a bucket of hot water, towels, shampoo, soap ... that's the first order of business. Then I want you to go back to the Raptor and bring me the medical kit. We're going to sterilize and bandage the worst of her sores. Third, track down some clothes. She's tall, so we'll use standard issue men's fatigues until I can bring some things over from the baseship. Finally, she appears to be severely malnourished, so go to the nearest galley and look for foods that are easily digestible. Soft fruits, bread … that sort of thing. And water; bring whatever you can find, but a sealed container with a straw would work best."

After Gaius had left, John slowly turned Gina so that she was lying on her back. He worked first one shoulder and then the other, knowing that long months of having her hands manacled behind her back had left the Six vulnerable to lasting shoulder damage. Finally, he sat down with crossed legs, and eased Gina's head onto his lap.

"It's over," he whispered. He was massaging her forehead as gently as he could possibly manage. "I won't allow anyone on this ship to hurt you. I promise that it will never happen again. You're with family now, and I'll keep you safe." John stared sightlessly at one of the cell walls, his mind trapped in a sea of painful memories.

. . .

"Excuse me, Captain, but I wonder if I could have a minute of your time."

Kendra Shaw turned her head, and instantly sized up the unremarkable woman who had approached her. With the hugs and handshakes now largely over, _Galactica's_ crew had begun drifting away to return to their jobs. Shaw and the woman, for the moment at least, had the deck to themselves.

"My name is Asha Janik. I'm a civilian worker … a munitions loader. I was watching your marines earlier; they didn't seem too happy to find _Galactica_ crawling with Cylons—and, to judge from your body language, you also weren't very pleased."

"What's your point, Miss Janik?"

"The overwhelming majority of the people in the fleet are also unhappy with this alliance the President and the Admiral have formed with the Cylons. The Admiral's married to a Cylon, and his son is living with one on the baseship. They're both pregnant. Roslin was removed from office, and she was able to resume the presidency only because the Cylons insisted on it. The Cylons own our leadership, and that's why _Demand Peace_ came about."

"_Demand Peace?"_

"Yes. The other Cylons have offered us a deal. We give them back their traitors, and we all go our separate ways. The human race survives. We find a new planet to call home, and then we turn to the arduous task of rebuilding our civilization. It's a deal that most of us are prepared to take, but not the Adamas … not Roslin. Captain, simply put, we need new leadership."

Janik reached into a knapsack and pulled out a large folder. She handed it to Shaw.

"I've enclosed several copies of our manifesto. Please pass one along to Admiral Cain, and tell her that there's a man on _Cloud Nine_ by the name of Royan Jahee who would like to meet with her at her convenience."

. . .

"So, how did you avoid the initial Cylon attack on the Colonies?"

The two admirals were finally alone—and Helena Cain was working on her third glass of whiskey.

"We didn't," she replied. "We were moored at the Scorpion Fleet Shipyard. We were due for a three month overhaul. Most of the crew was getting ready for extended shore leave, family reunions … you know how it goes. The XO had the deck, and I was down in my quarters wrapping up some last minute paperwork. I was getting ready to head home to Tauron. That's when the Cylons attacked. They hit the shipyard with three … maybe four nukes. Five ships, two of them battlestars, were destroyed in a matter of seconds. And by the time I got back to CIC, I discovered that I'd lost over seven hundred men. We were completely defenseless, so I ordered a jump."

"To where?"

Cain drained her glass, and refilled it. "Wherever. Nowhere. Just jump."

"A blind jump," Adama sighed. He took a sip from his own glass. "You could've ended up anywhere. That's a gutsy call."

"A desperate move," Helena retorted. "I didn't see any other choice. What about you?"

"We lost every Viper Mark VII to the same Cylon computer virus that shut down a lot of the battlestars. After that, we couldn't get into the fight because we had nothing to fight with. We headed to the Ragnar anchorage to take on munitions, and Roslin and the civilian fleet caught up with us there. We fought our way out of the anchorage and headed for the Prolmar Sector. At one point, the Cylons were dogging us every thirty-three minutes. It went on for days, and we lost one ship with over eleven hundred people on board in the process. Bierns tells me that the fleet gave a good accounting of themselves. They took out 197 baseships, and we added one more to the list over Kobol. But it's Natalie who's been doing the real damage. She's destroyed three baseships, and in one engagement she saved us from certain destruction."

"Bill, assuming for the moment that their defection is real- and I'm by no means prepared to concede the point- what could they possibly have told you that persuaded you to play along with them?"

"John Bierns and Kara Thrace."

"What about them?"

"They're hybrids … human fathers and Cylon mothers. In clinical terms, I suspect there's more to it than that because they both insist that the centurions are their brothers. They're the end result of a decades old top-secret medical experiment, which may well have involved a good deal of genetic manipulation."

Adama walked over to his desk and picked up a folder. He brought it back to the table and sat down.

"These are the seven Cylon models currently in operation. The file is in numerical order. The Ones … the Cavils … resorted to artificial insemination." Bill fingered the top photo, and then he spread the pictures out so that Cain could see the three females. "A dozen of the Cylon women were his victims; he slaughtered them all when their usefulness was at an end, along with all but two of the babies. Bierns has no clear idea why Cavil chose to leave the two of them alive, but I'm told that his memories of all this are vivid."

Helena picked up a piece of paper with a large 7 scrawled across its surface. Bill read the question in her eyes, and tapped the picture of Sharon Agathon.

"The Sharons are Eights, which means that there's a missing model … the Sevens. My wife says that there are five more Cylon models about which the others know nothing; she speculates that the Sevens might well be one of them. What's odd is that Natalie is equally in the dark. She's one of the original Sixes, so you would think that she would be able to recall a model that came after her in the sequence, but she also draws a complete blank."

"Bill, _it's a machine_. Isn't it obvious? Somebody has tampered with its memories, which would amount to nothing more than deleting a file somewhere in the software."

Bill smiled. "Perhaps," he said, "but these _machines_ have a very strong urge to procreate. They tried for years to have children among themselves, but without success. They became convinced that they were sterile … and then without warning along come Kara and John. How would you react if you found out that your entire existence was a pack of lies? Natalie is angry and bitter, and she has lots of company on that baseship. For them, this is a war to the death. Each ensuing Cylon pregnancy will be just another nail in John Cavil's coffin. I have complete faith in our allies."

"Bill, I don't remember seeing your name on the last promotion list. How did you make admiral?"

"Roslin. In formal terms, Natalie is Commander Six, yet she acknowledges me as her superior officer. Laura discovered that the individual in charge of two capital ships is an admiral, so she invoked presidential privilege to promote me. This eliminated one of the more awkward elements in my relationship with Natalie."

"Bill, I'm sure you understand that all of this has been highly irregular. The Secretary of Education may or may not be entitled to exercise the duties of the presidency, but in promoting you she was clearly acting on the erroneous assumption that there were no senior flag officers surviving. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to resume your previous rank. I intend to assume full and immediate command of this fleet."

"I do not believe that the President will permit that to happen. If you push her, she will simply promote me again."

"Still another capricious exercise of her already dubious authority? Tell me, why would I pay any attention to a … a glorified schoolteacher?"

"Oh, come, Helena … when you made admiral, you jumped over half the commanders on the list. Everybody in the fleet knew that you were cashing in on your political connections." Bill snorted as he took another sip of his whiskey. "Talk about irregular promotions!"

Helena downed the last of her glass in one gulp, gathered up the file of photographs, and got to her feet. She glared at Adama. "Sleeping with the enemy … marrying the enemy … impregnating the enemy … Bill, you've given the term 'collaboration' a whole new meaning. You should consider yourself lucky that I'm not drawing up a warrant for your arrest. I'm ordering you to send over your logs, and I'll expect your officers to update their ordnance records and forward them to _Pegasus_ as well."

Bill didn't bother getting to his feet. He looked at Cain over the top of his whiskey glass. "So, Admiral, in this bold and adventurous little war of yours … tell me, how many baseships have you knocked out?"

Cain didn't bother to salute. She left Adama's quarters without another word.

Bill took a few minutes to think about it, and then he made the call.

"Dee, patch me through to Laura Roslin."

. . .

John used his hands to wash Gina's face, and then he shampooed her hair. He welcomed the strong scent, and he thought that Gina must have welcomed it as well. She still had not spoken, but her eyelids were constantly fluttering, and he took that for a good sign.

The worst moment came when he reached beneath her, untied the drawstring, and removed the filthy strips of cloth that alone covered parts of her body. Gina instinctively tried to cover her breasts and pubic mound with her hands, but her shoulders would not tolerate the sudden movement. She whimpered, and then she sobbed, and John knew from bitter experience that humiliation and pain were coursing through her consciousness in equal measure. He draped his jacket over her, covering as much as he could, and the Six clung to it much as a drowning sailor might cling to a life jacket.

He began the sponge bath with her feet, and when he reached Gina's mid-section he made no attempt to remove his coat. Instead he worked blindly, never allowing his fingers to touch her, constantly asking the Six if she was okay, if she needed him to stop. He was hoping for a response, but none came.

When Baltar returned with the med kit and a set of clean fatigues, they began the slow process of applying salve and bandages to the open sores and festering wounds that covered much of Gina's body. It became quickly apparent that at some point Gaius had received first aid training, and his gentleness suggested that he was sensitive to Gina's fear of being touched.

"You loved her, didn't you, Gaius? Natasi, I mean."

Both men continued to tend Gina's wounds.

"Yes," Gaius finally admitted, "and when I found out that she was a Cylon, it made no difference. I still love her. To this day, Natasi is never far from my thoughts."

"Did you ever tell her?"

"No. I was afraid of being in love … afraid of the commitment. I never found the courage openly to tell her how I felt."

"Don't give up on her, Gaius. She's out there somewhere, and your paths may well cross again. But I hope that this time …"

"I know, Major. I won't make the same mistake twice."

It took the both of them to get Gina dressed, but when it was done John dispatched Baltar in search of food. When Gaius returned, he found the major once again sitting cross-legged on the floor, with Gina's head cradled in his lap. Baltar sat a plate down at Gina's side, along with two cups of water.

"No straws, Major … I'm sorry."

"That's all right, Gaius. You've done well. I appreciate all your help, and I hope that Gina does as well. But for now, I need to be alone with her." John looked directly at the scientist, the torrent of emotions flowing through him clearly to be heard in his voice. "Do you understand?"

Baltar nodded. "Major, if you need me, I'll be in the galley. The sight of food reminds me that I haven't eaten anything today."

John pulled the plate closer, so that it was nudging Gina's hand.

"Gina, I know that you can hear me. There's a plate of food right beside you. Sweetheart, do you want me to feed you, or do you want to try doing it yourself?"

Gina's fingers snaked out and curled around a slice of apple. She raised it slowly and painfully to her mouth, and then she began to chew. It was at this precise moment that John Bierns first allowed himself to believe that he might yet bring Gina Inviere home.

. . .

"Well, Major, I see that you got it to eat. That's progress of a kind. Have you taught it to go fetch? Can you get it to roll over … beg for its supper?" Cain handed Bierns a large file of reconnaissance photos taken by a Viper hiding in the last planetary system that the Cylon fleet had visited. "See what you can make of these, but be quick about it. I need you to accompany me to the baseship."

Helena walked slowly around Gina's prostrate figure. "You know," she murmured, "this thing used to sit in our mess and eat our food. She'd laugh at our stories … just another member of our happy little crew, weren't you? All that time when you were planning to slaughter us you just sat there, listening to us, pretending to be our friend …"

Without warning, Cain kicked her former lover viciously in the ribs.

"That's enough," John said as he positioned himself between the two women.

Cain looked malevolently at the spook. "You know what I'm hearing, Major? Word has it that the Cylons regard you as some kind of angel; they apparently believe that you've been dispatched by that One True God of theirs to lead us all home. Well, I want to send them to Hell. Find out about these ships, and let's see if we can make it happen."

Cain and her guards left the cell, leaving Gina and John alone once more.

"Is she telling the truth? Are you an angel?"

Badly startled, John whirled around to stare down at the Six. He quickly dropped to his knees beside her. "Gina …"

"Can you help me? I want to die. Will you help me do that? Will you kill me? Please … please, kill me." Gina Inviere curled into a fetal ball, and began quietly sobbing.

John Bierns felt as if his heart had just been ripped out of his chest. Another Six begging for death … would there ever be an end to the nightmare that kept eating away at his soul?

"I can't do that, Gina, but I promise you … as bad as things seem right now, they're going to get better. I'll get you off this ship; I'll take you home."

"_I don't want things to get better. I don't want to go home. I want to die!"_

"No, Gina, that's not what you want …"

Gina suddenly scrambled to her knees, and crawled off into a corner. She hugged her knees, unconsciously trying to offer the smallest target possible to her abusers.

"_Don't tell me what I want! You don't know! You don't know the things they did to me … you can't possibly know! Please, I'm begging you, help me die!"_

John got up, walked over, and once again fell to his knees in front of her. He looked at Gina for what seemed like an eternity. And then he made his decision. He dropped the folder, and wordlessly began to unbutton his shirt.

"_What are you doing?"_ Gina was cowering in her corner, on the verge of a full-scale panic attack. She thought that he was going to rape her.

He tossed the shirt aside. In a life that was full of bad moments, this was one of the worst. He felt like he was about to bare his soul.

Still on his knees, he spun around, so that Gina Inviere could see his back. He heard her audible gasp, and he didn't need to face her to see the horror in her eyes. He had seen it on more than one face, Cylon and human alike.

"It gets better, Gina … it really does." He was still facing away from her. He felt her fingers graze one of the welts; he imagined that she was trying to convince herself that she was trapped in some kind of awful dream.

"Cylons did this to me … a Three and a Six … and this is only what you can see. Forgiving them … that was the easy part. It's forgiving yourself that's hard. When she found out the truth, the Six begged me to kill her … permanent death. And I did." John coughed, and then his voice wavered. "I begged her to let it go, but she couldn't. She was unyielding. She said that she would kill herself if I didn't help her, and that her soul would be lost forever. So I did what she asked, but since then I haven't slept very well. I have bad dreams, Gina … really, really bad dreams."

John hung his head in shame. "I can't do what you want," he whispered, his voice so low that Gina had to strain to hear it. "I can't go through this again."

After another eternity, Gina Inviere finally spoke. "We're all monsters," she concluded, "and Helena's wrong … we're already in Hell." Gina picked up the folder, and began thumbing through the photographs. One by one, she disclosed the function of the dozen odd ships in the Cylon fleet.

. . .

"Admiral, welcome aboard our ship," the Eight said.

"Thank you," Cain replied. "I'm here to see your commander."

"Certainly, Admiral; I will escort you to the control room, but these marines will have to stay behind."

Cain frowned. In addition to John Bierns and Peter Laird, she had brought four heavily armed Razors with her to the baseship.

"It is customary," she icily remarked, "for flag officers to travel with an armed escort whenever they visit other ships in the furtherance of their official duties. Commander Adama did not object to the presence of my marines when I visited _Galactica_."

"And yet, on his last visit to our ship, Admiral Adama came alone …"

"Admiral," Bierns interrupted, "I'll escort you to the control room. Eight, please take Mr. Laird here to see Galen Tyrol. He's the _Pegasus_ deck chief, and he wants to have a look at the blackbird."

. . .

"Now this is one ugly baby!"

Galen Tyrol turned around, a shocked look on his face. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, hey, do you mind if I take a look around? I've never been on a baseship before. By the way, my name's Laird. I'm the _Pegasus_ deck chief."

"Yeah, no problem," Galen said. "Look at whatever you like."

"I'll be damned … DDG-62s. I designed these engines. I thought they went to the scrap heap over ten years ago."

"You're an aeronautical engineer?"

"I used to be, but then the war came along, and I got drafted into being deck chief on _Pegasus_."

"So you're really a civilian? How'd that happen?"

"I was on the _Scylla_ when the attack started, and we lit out for deep space. Eventually, we got picked up by the _Pegasus_." Laird continued to walk around the blackbird; it was obvious that he admired the design. "Do you mind if I crawl around inside? I hear you designed the ship yourself, Chief. I'd love to know how you did it."

"Yeah, go ahead, help yourself. And when you get done, you might want to take a look at our second generation prototype."

Galen walked over to Six, who had been following the exchange from a distance.

"I think he likes our ship," the chief said in a voice that was tinged with pride. "He's an aeronautical engineer, and he likes our ship."

. . .

Welcoming her to the control room, Natalie offered Helena Cain her hand.

The admiral accepted it with only minimal reluctance. She had clamped down hard on her emotions, and now she took refuge in small talk.

"Where's your little girl? On _Galactica_, the two of you seemed joined at the hip."

"Pyrrha's taking a nap," Natalie explained with a smile.

"It must be difficult for you, trying to raise a small, human child while you're running a baseship and fighting a war."

"On the contrary, Admiral, parenting is the most rewarding experience of my entire life. To see through a child's eyes is to see the hand of God everywhere."

Helena steadfastly ignored the allusion to the Cylon god. It was time, she decided, to get down to business. She opened a folder, and began to set out the package of reconnaissance photographs on the central console. "Commander," she said, "can you identify these ships?"

"These three are antiquated colonial vessels … purpose unknown." Natalie neatly stacked the photos and returned them to the folder. "This is a mining ship … this is a tylium processing ship … and these two are tankers." More photos went into the folder.

Natalie tapped her index finger against the next photo. "This is a standard-issue Cylon transport. I would attach high value to this vessel. It houses food, medicine, clothing … even spare parts. If we could somehow capture it, the fleet would be able to put everything in its holds to good use."

"Let's see. An agricultural ship … and we have Raider, Heavy Raider, and centurion manufacturing platforms …"

Natalie picked up the last photograph, and passed it across the console to D'Anna and Leoben. "And," Leoben calmly stated, "one resurrection ship."

"Congratulations, Admiral," D'Anna remarked; "you have just located one of the two supply fleets that have been trailing the baseships hunting _Galactica_ and _Pegasus_." There was a fierce gleam in D'Anna's eyes.

Helena and John glanced meaningfully at each other. Natalie had just confirmed everything that Gina had given them.

"Major," Helena said in a voice that rang with authority, "you're the resident spook, so I want you to put together another recon mission. Find this fleet, and map it out for me. I want to know where each ship is in relation to the others, the distances between them, and above all I want to know where _Pegasus_ and _Galactica_ should come out of jump in order to inflict the maximum amount of damage in the shortest possible period of time. I want this to be hit-and-run, but I want to hit them hard."

"We can find the fleet" Natalie commented, "but I'll have to ask Admiral Adama for permission to send out a probe."

"Commander Adama's promotion was irregular," Cain countered. "But I outrank him in any event … it's a question of time in rank."

"President Roslin disagrees," Natalie coolly answered. "I spoke with her less than twenty minutes ago about this very issue. The President has formally acknowledged our claims to sentience, and in return we have agreed to uphold the Articles of Colonization, to obey colonial law … and to serve under Admiral Adama's authority. The President regards Admiral Adama as the senior military presence in the fleet, and our agreement constrains us to follow her lead in this matter."

"Well," Cain muttered, "let's just hope that Adama recognizes the value of this fleet, and agrees to a joint strike mission."

Cain turned to leave the control room, but then another thought apparently struck her.

"Commander Six, may I ask … how old are you?"

"Do you mean my model number, or me personally?"

"Both."

"The first Six was introduced to the collective twenty-four years ago. I'm twenty-three, which makes me far the most senior copy on the ship."

Helena studied her more closely. "You seem subtly different from the others, both in appearance and demeanor."

"That's very observant of you, Admiral. The first Sixes were all designed to be Overseers, so we tend to be more authoritative, even abrasive. I'm personally celebrated for my lack of patience, and the speed with which I make and execute decisions may sometimes warrant criticism. I'm also told that I'm unduly careless about my personal appearance." Natalie looked around at the other Sixes in the control room. "As they became more fair-skinned and blond, I'm afraid that most of my younger sisters also became somewhat more vain."

"Twenty-three," Cain mused; I was twenty-three when I graduated from the fleet academy." She reached into one of her pockets and pulled out a photograph. She handed it to Natalie.

Natalie looked at the picture, and then her head snapped up. There was no mistaking the shocked expression on her face.

. . .

Admiral Helena Cain staggered through the cell door, a bottle of ambrosia and two empty glasses in hand. The guard closed the cell door behind her, and hastened down the corridor and out of sight.

Gina Inviere instinctively retreated deeper into the cell, trying to put as much distance between them as she could. Helena stared at her former lover, and that was all it took to unleash the storm of conflicting emotions within her psyche. The quietly confident, statuesque beauty who had shared her bed in another lifetime was gone, and Cain was still amazed by what had been left behind. She had given Thorne license to interrogate the prisoner any way that he saw fit, and after that first awful day she had rarely come down to check on his progress. She had always been too honest to pretend that she cared about answers. From the very beginning this had been about personal betrayal and revenge, not military intelligence.

_Degradation_, she remembered instructing the lieutenant, _fear, shame, pain_—and she thought that Lieutenant Alastair Thorne had done his job well. He was not above serial rape and starvation, and he had taken the whip to Gina's once flawless skin on many occasions. Gina was gaunt, she was marked, and there was the look of a hunted animal in her eyes.

"I'm alone, Gina. No monitors, no guards." She extended the bottle of ambrosia toward the Cylon and wiggled it in her hand. "Just like old times."

"What do you want?" Gina quickly surveyed the admiral; her holster was missing—if Cain was armed, Gina couldn't see it.

Helena stumbled deeper into the cell; she was swaying—side to side and front and back. She had followed Adama's whiskey with her own ambrosia, and she was on her second bottle.

"You're drunk," Gina said contemptuously.

"That's right, but not nearly as drunk as I plan to be … unless, of course, you'd like to kill me? You can, you know; I've left strict orders that no one's to interfere. I debated bringing a gun, making it easy for you, but I thought you'd like to do it with your bare hands. Go on, Gina, go ahead and do it … grant me this one small mercy."

"Gladly," Gina said as she inched in Cain's direction. _Bitch, killing you is exactly what I'm planning to do. I'm going to rip you head from your spine and kick it around the room … and I'm not going to stop until they come in and kill me. _"But to what do I owe this well earned moment of pleasure?"

"The war's all but over, Gina, and I honestly don't know whether we won or lost. I don't even know what victory and defeat mean anymore. It was all for nothing … fifty billion people died … an entire civilization … and it was all for nothing."

Helena looked around for someplace to sit down, and belatedly recognized that the cell was bereft of furniture. With the exaggerated care of the truly drunk, she bent over and carefully placed the bottle and glasses on the floor. Then she slowly and awkwardly followed them, somehow managing to get her legs curled beneath her. She poured out two glasses of ambrosia and patted the floor beside her, inviting Gina to sit.

_Self-pity? Helena Cain? _Gina Inviere possessed the natural curiosity of her model, and every aspect of human behavior intrigued her. This was a side of the admiral that she had never seen, not even in those unguarded moments of intimacy when Helena had occasionally allowed herself to show weakness.

Gina loomed above Helena Cain. _It would be so easy to kill her,_ Gina reflected, _so easy. Just reach down, break her neck, and she'll be gone … forever._

"What's going on, Admiral?"

"There's another battlestar out there … _Galactica_ … Bill Adama's command. And there's a large civilian fleet that comes equipped with a president." Helena scoffed. "Laura Roslin, President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. Who would have believed it? The Secretary of Education, _a schoolteacher_, is the president … my lawful superior. And Adama? _Commander _Adama is now an admiral. He even outranks me … and you know why? It's very simple: it takes an admiral to command two capital ships, even if one of them happens to be a Cylon baseship." Cain shook her head. "A rebel Cylon baseship … a Cylon civil war … humans and Cylons fighting side by side … marrying … having children … who would have believed it?" Helena downed the glass of ambrosia in one swallow, and poured herself another.

"_What?"_ Gina's first thought was that the admiral wasn't simply drunk, she was hallucinating. But she wasn't quite sure. She sat down, which prompted Helena to start fumbling around in her pockets. She pulled out two photographs, studied them for a moment, and then offered one to Gina.

"Family photos," Cain muttered, "your family."

Gina silently gazed at Helena Cain for several seconds before turning to the photo. A solemn young man and woman stared back at her, two centurions hovering in the background. She recognized John, but the woman's face meant nothing to her.

"They're your hybrid children, Gina. The way they tell it, she's your daughter. John's mother is somebody called D'Anna … you know, that journalist who was on television all the time?"

"A Three," Gina said without thinking. _This has to be an elaborate mind game, _she reflected,_ a new form of interrogation. And I just gave them a piece of information that they didn't have before. Frak!_

Helena handed Gina the second photo. It was one of the publicity shots that had been taken in the admiral's quarters. Laura Roslin was flanked by the Adamas on one side, and by Natalie Faust and Helena Cain on the other.

"Your sister on the left? That's Shelly. She started out as an infiltrator, but she's worked her way up nicely. Now she's the admiral's wife … Adama's very pregnant wife. The other one? That's Natalie … the commander of the cylon baseship. Roslin's recognized her as Cylon head of state."

The shock wave that rolled over Gina Inviere as she stared at the photo all but crushed her. Gina and Shelly had trained for their mission together, along with several other Sixes who had been assigned high value scientific or technical targets. Gina had never met Natalie, but the older Six was a legend among the younger copies. She was alleged to be hard as nails, and to possess an intensity that was rare for their model. Even in a photograph, Gina thought, one could not miss the determination in those eyes.

"Who's the woman standing next to her," Gina asked. She suddenly found it hard to breathe.

"That's Roslin … our Cylon loving president … Laura Roslin." Cain sneered at Gina. "What's the matter, Six? Are you afraid to ask about the little girl … afraid to discover that it was all for nothing?"

Gina Inviere didn't need to look at the photograph a second time. She didn't need to see the child that Natalie was holding in her arms, and she didn't even want to think about the tiny arms that were wrapped tightly around her sister's neck. The photograph had washed away everything that gave meaning to her life.

"Her name is Pyrrha," Cain mocked, "and she's Natalie's daughter … her adopted, _human_ daughter."

"I was a soldier," Gina whispered. Her voice sounded like the stuff of dreams. "A warrior. I was just doing my duty, but I didn't want you to die. I took the computers offline …"

"Do you see it?" Helena ignored Gina's comment. "Gina, I have to know … _do you see it_?"

"See what, Admiral?" Gina's voice came from far away.

"Natalie … me … do you see it?"

"I don't understand."

Cain reached into another pocket, her movements increasingly urgent … desperate. She handed Gina a third photo.

"That's me, Gina, twenty-seven years ago … on the day I graduated from the fleet academy. I was twenty-three years old. Do you see it?"

Gina looked hard at Helena Cain, measured the intensity in her voice … sensed the slight undercurrent of desperation. She looked down at the two photos, and then her eyes went wide. It was suddenly, appallingly clear why Cain was wallowing in self-pity . The two young women shared the same features and complexion, the same hair, the height … but more than anything else … they shared the same intensity and determination. Their shared temperament fairly leapt out of the two photographs.

Without a word, Gina got to her feet and walked over to the glass partition that for so long had separated her tiny world from the rest of the ship. She slammed her fist against the glass, and then again … and again. She did not feel the bones break … did not see the cobweb of cracks that began to emerge in the glass. She felt nothing but rage, the magnitude of the betrayal beyond any hope of comprehension. _No! God, it's not fair! You can't cheat me this way … God, no … not after everything that I've gone through. I want to kill her … I have to kill her … this is a nightmare … this can't be happening._

"Am I a Cylon, Gina?" Cain didn't look up, and Gina didn't turn around. "Is that why you couldn't kill me when you had dozens of chances? Did you know?"

Gina rested her forehead against the shattered glass. "I don't know," she whispered. "It's possible. There are five cylon models that are cloaked in mystery. And I don't know anything about my origins … not one thing. You could be …"

"Did they use my DNA?"

"I don't know."

"Clone me?"

"I don't know," Gina sobbed.

"Steal one of my eggs … my ovaries … grow all of you in Petrie dishes?"

"_I don't know,"_ Gina screamed. _"I don't know."_

"Was it Lucy? The machines carried her off on the last day of the war. Did they find some way to … replicate her?"

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know …"

"Or maybe it was me that they captured. Maybe there never was a Lucy. Maybe I never had a sister. Maybe Lucy's nothing more than something they programmed into me … a false memory … guilt that would drive me every day of my life … guilt that would drive me to overachieve …"

"No," Gina protested, the desperation now plain in her own voice. "We're not you … we're not! The photos … they're close, but they're not exact. Oh, God, please … _please_!"

"So, it has to be Lucy … my baby sister. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't really matter. I fell in love with my own flesh and blood. I made love to you … I tortured you. Gods, it's a frakking nightmare!"

Gina went on sobbing, her life so completely shattered that she was praying for the universe to reach out and crush her under its weight. _I don't need this,_ her mind was screaming; _"God, will it never end? Why do you punish me this way? What have I done to deserve this?_

"Gina, why don't you kill me?" A great calmness had settled over Helena Cain. "This is your big chance. You may never get another one. Why don't you …"

"_I can't,"_ Gina moaned, her broken hand pressed hard into the broken glass. Her mutilated body slowly slid down the partition, and she collapsed in a heap on the floor. _"I can't._ I loved you so much … I wanted you to live so badly. I did everything I could to save you …"

"But not _Pegasus_, Gina; you didn't try and save _Pegasus_."

"_You're wrong, Helena … you're so, so wrong_. At the shipyards, I took the computers offline. You never would have escaped if the network had been up, so I put off the installation. I took all the computers down just before the attack … everything … I had to be sure that you'd be safe …"

"And when we hit the relay station … when I killed Jurgen? You set us up for the ambush didn't you? You disabled the main batteries?"

"Yes. I had it all worked out. When the solution finally came to me, it was so simple … so neat. I'd disable the defenses so that the centurions could board the ship … capture it. I'd let them kill everybody else, but not you … never you. I wanted you for myself, Helena … but I'm cylon. I couldn't betray my people. I could save you … I could even save _Pegasus_. Your ship would have lived; it would have become cylon … a proud vessel in a proud fleet."

"You were insane."

"I was in love. Is there a difference?"

"Hundreds died because of you."

"But you lived. I'd do it all again, all of it."

"And what would I have become? Your pet? _Your slave?_"

"No! I would have gone on loving you forever. We would have stayed the same … just the same. I would have taken you home," Gina sobbed; "in time, we would have been happy."

"Happy." Helena snorted, poured another glass, and drank it down in one gulp. "Happy. _You'd take Pegasus away from me and expect me to be happy?_ Gina, how could you have been so stupid? _I would have hated you … I would have hated my own flesh and blood!_"

"Helena, what was I supposed to do?" Gina couldn't stop sobbing because she had no answers … there had never been any answers. "If you were me, what would you have done? _Tell me! What would you have done?_"

Helena Cain stared into her empty glass. If there was wisdom there, she couldn't find it.


	20. Chapter 20: The Winged Horse

**WARNING: THIS CHAPER CONTAINS GRAPHIC SEXUAL VIOLENCE**

**Scenes 4-7 of this chapter build upon events in chapter 7 of season one. Readers who have not read the earlier chapter are encouraged to do so before proceeding.**

**This site does not support elaborate diagrams and figures, so I have created a website specifically for this purpose. The http address is longjourneyhomedotwebsdotcom. Figure 1 should come up automatically. Additional figures for future chapters will be added as these chapters unfold.**

CHAPTER 20

THE WINGED HORSE

The _Arethusa_ was old, but she had aged gracefully. Centurions had stormed her decks during the first Cylon war, and after the surviving passengers and crew had been removed for the experiments, they had added the ship to their inventory. Initially, they had used the luxury liner for training purposes. The flagship of the Trans Stellar Spacelines fleet was the first vessel of its type that they had managed to seize, and they used it to familiarize themselves with the maze of corridors that connected the airlocks with the bridge, the engine room, and the life support stations. The knowledge obtained was never actually put to use because _Arethusa_ was the only ship of its class that the Cylons would ever capture, but the technique itself served the machines well throughout the long years of war.

The Cimtar Accords did not require the Cylons to return their prizes, but they would not have done so in any event. The centurions had only reluctantly given up the war, and they would not have agreed to the armistice at all were it not for the intervention of the five more advanced machines that had traveled from the distant home of the Thirteenth Tribe. The five had offered the centurions a deal: peace would buy them resurrection technology, as well as the invention of what eventually turned out to be eight humanoid Cylon models. The centurions knew humans too well, however, to think that the armistice would hold. The humans were idolatrous and treacherous, and in time would surely violate the treaty. Humanoid Cylons might one day be required to infiltrate the human ranks, and Colonial vessels offered untraceable access.

Like the other ships, therefore, _Arethusa_ was mothballed, her storage compartments still stocked with vintage wines and the choicest brands of aged whiskey and ambrosia, not to mention cigars fit for the most refined of tastes. It was the latter that had first drawn the Cavils to _Arethusa's_ decks. They may have postured as ascetic priests, and they may have preached the virtues of the untainted machine, but they nonetheless indulged themselves readily enough in the many pleasures of the flesh. The Cavils made _Arethusa_ their own private preserve, and they brought in their slave centurions to restore the luxury liner to its former glory. On the day that Caprica fell, the dried blood that had once disfigured the vessel's decks and fixtures had long since been wiped away. The floors were polished and the fittings gleamed. When the exodus from the Colonies got under way, the Cavils naturally chose to house their menagerie of chosen female slaves in _Arethusa's_ opulent staterooms.

The Cavils all enjoyed sex, which put the lie to their oft-stated ambition to be the best machines that the universe had ever seen. Their hypocrisy was glaring, but on the _Arethusa_ there was no one in a position to point it out. Sadistic in temperament, the Ones welcomed the slightest hint of disobedience, for it gave them still another reason to lash out at their victims. They enjoyed administering pain, both for the pleasure it brought in its own right and for the fear that it aroused. Pain … fear … degradation, these were the wellsprings of desperation—and the Ones had long since convinced themselves that desperation pushed the human female to the heights of sexual ingenuity.

There were forty-three females on _Arethusa_ to service the desires of the half dozen Cavils currently in residence. The odd number was by design. An object lesson would drive home the point that human life was valueless, and that on these decks it could be terminated on a whim. If fear was a teacher, then the Ones reasoned that the fear of imminent death would be the greatest teacher of them all. Whether their chosen victim was already fully obedient and delightfully creative mattered to them not in the least. In their minds there was always room for improvement, and this was the most efficient means to achieve it.

The centurions herded the young women into the large room that had once been the chancery, and the Ones made them draw lots. There was one silver cubit in an urn with forty-two gold, and the fatal lot ended up in the hands of an actress who had escaped the holocaust only because her film company was on location high in the mountains north of Caprica City. Two centurions seized her, and stretched her arms painfully wide; the six brothers then took turns flogging her with a bull whip. She began screaming with the third stroke of the lash, but passed out at some point before the twentieth. Still, the Cavils did not relent because the whole point of the exercise was to terrify those who would survive this day—and their unfortunate victim would not. The slaves did not know whether she was alive or dead when the centurions put her out an airlock, and their masters did not particularly care.

Cavil stared angrily at the forty-two survivors, and then he reached into his pocket and extracted another pair of silver cubits. He dropped them on the deck in full view of the thoroughly frightened slaves.

"All of you are disappointing," he roared, "and some of you are absolutely pathetic. None of you are worth the air that you breathe, never mind the food that is going into your bellies. Well, all of you can be replaced … and you will be if you don't start proving to us that you're worth your keep. You _will_ perform tonight, and if it is not to our collective satisfaction, then we _will_ do this again tomorrow, and two more of you _will_ have a chance personally to apologize to Aphrodite for your miserable lack of talent. Centurions, get this slime out of our sight!"

. . .

"Ahh," Fisk said with evident satisfaction, "that sure beats the hell out of the nickel tour!" He handed his cup to Saul Tigh; the two of them were squirreled away in the tool room that doubled as Galen Tyrol's _Galactica_ still. It had been months since Jack Fisk had last tasted alcohol, so Tigh was hoping that the Chief's high octane hooch would be enough to loosen the _Pegasus_ XO's tongue.

"Yeah, well, I figured that once you've seen one old battlestar …"

"… you've seen them all. I know what you mean, Saul. Still, to _Galactica_ … the last of her kind." Fisk raised his cup in mock salute.

"To _Galactica_." The two men drained their cups, and Tigh set them up for another round.

"So, tell me about Laird. How does an aeronautical engineer become the _Pegasus_ deck chief?"

"Officer's discretion," Fisk asked.

"Of course."

"Laird's ship was the _Scylla_ … a civilian transport. We found her and some other civvies about a week after the attack. They were good ships. They all had FTL drives, and some of them even had anti-ship missile batteries. It added up to a lot of potential spare parts that we could use on _Pegasus_. So, the admiral made a decision … military needs come first." Fisk's expression was haunted.

"You stripped them?" Saul couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "You stripped the ships for parts? Sweet mother of Artemis, Jack, how much equipment did you take? Did you take their jump drives? Did you leave all those people marooned out there?"

"No … no. Admiral Cain … she looks over the passenger lists. She makes a decision … who's valuable, who's not. _Scylla_ was the toughest. Laird and fifteen other men and women … they were the selectees. But they were all traveling with their families … their wives … husbands … children. So, they refused to go."

Fisk emptied his cup, and blindly held out his hand.

"The order came down to shoot the family of anyone who refused to come. So, we did. We put two families up against the bulkhead, and we shot them. It was cold-blooded murder."

"Gods, Jack, you do know what you're talking about, don't you? This was impressment; no … hell, it was piracy, pure and simple! What about their FTL's? You didn't take them all, did you?"

"Yeah … every frakkin' one of them. Military needs are a priority." Fisk was close to tears.

"Sweet merciful gods. You left them with nothing but sublights in the middle of nowhere. Jack, for all you knew, this was the last of the human race. What the frak was Cain thinking?"

"She wasn't. Saul, she's hell bent on revenge. And not just for the Colonies. You know the story, don't you … about her parents … her sister?"

"Sure. Everybody in the fleet who's dry behind the ears knows Cain's story. Still, what the hell do you think happened to all those civvies?"

"Mass suicide … cannibalism … I don't know. I don't think I wanna know."

Saul Tigh sadly shook his head. "I swear, how you sleep nights is beyond me."

Jack Fisk drained his cup yet again. "I don't," he said. He held it out for another refill.

. . .

In a quiet corner of the hangar bay, the chief's moonshine was simultaneously fueling still another party. _Galactica's_ knuckle-draggers and pilots were playing host to some of the _Pegasus_ deckhands and marines, who were as alcohol starved as their XO.

"So," Cally asked, "how come you guys don't have a still of your own?"

"Oh, maybe it's because the admiral would hand us our heads! _Pegasus_ is a _real_ battlestar," one of her marines proudly asserted.

"Yeah," Specialist Michael Gage cut in, "but this place is a frakking party. Your chief deserves a medal!"

"And we hear you guys got yourselves over three hundred of those hot Cylon babes on board." Derek Vireem was literally licking his lips in anticipation. "Oh man, but I'd like to get me some more of that Cylon stuff. A little of the oh-yeah, oh-yeah!"

"_Yee-haw,"_ Gage screeched as he and Vireem exchanged high-fives.

"Okay, you know what, guys? That's enough." Karl Agathon towered over the two specialists, and he was fast approaching the point where he was going to start settling matters with his fists. "You're talking about my wife and sisters-in-law, so cut it out."

"Hey, take it easy, Lieutenant," Vireem admonished; "we're just having a little fun."

"Yeah," Gage agreed, "but I gotta ask. Do these little robot girls know any special tricks?"

That tore it. Helo was on the verge of shoving his fist down Gage's throat when Starbuck hastily intervened. She planted her hands firmly on her friend's chest.

"Whoa, Karl, just let it go … okay? Don't let them get to you … not here, not now, not ever. Just let it go."

Helo made a conscious effort to relax, but it wasn't easy and he only partially succeeded. Still seething, he pointed a finger at the loud-mouthed deckhand, the threat implicit in the gesture, and then he walked away.

"Ooh, a little on the sensitive side, isn't he?" Vireem mockingly gestured at the retreating figure of Karl Agathon. "How in the name of the gods can one of us get sucked in that deep by a lousy machine?"

. . .

In the CIC, Sharon Agathon leaned forward to clutch the edge of the tactical console. Sharon and Felix were hard at work on a delivery system for their logic bombs when, without warning, the baby began to thrash about. Sharon was entering her sixth month of pregnancy, and over the previous four weeks she had become more and more attuned to the rhythm of Hera's movements. She loved to lie in bed at night and, keeping her body perfectly still, rest a single sheet of paper upon her protruding belly. The sight of the paper seemingly fluttering of its own accord mesmerized her husband. Helo's love for her and the new life growing inside of her was more than enough to compensate for the low back pain that had now become an intimate part of her daily routine. In the last week it had also become alarmingly obvious that cylon physiology was not going to hold leg cramps at bay. Sharon didn't know whether to be happy or disappointed that her body seemed intent upon experiencing every lousy symptom of pregnancy that the baby books had to offer.

But this was different. Hera wasn't simply kicking; she was upset, and she was letting her mother know it.

. . .

On the baseship, Reun sensed the unborn child's distress, and reached out with her mind to try and calm her.

. . .

Kara Thrace was running through the corridors. She had to get to the CIC, and she had to get there _now_. Hera's panic was clawing at her mind, and she was helpless to ward it off.

"Open the hatch," Kara screamed as she bore down on the entrance to the Combat Information Center. The startled marine guard obeyed without a second thought.

Kara plunged into the CIC and dashed up to Sharon Agathon, who was surrounded by a small group of equally concerned humans and Cylons. Mindful of the near miscarriage that Sharon had previously suffered, Adama had already summoned Doc Cottle. The admiral was keenly aware of the importance of the four "miracle babies," as he had privately dubbed them, and Sharon's difficulties also made him worry about what was in store for Shelly.

Starbuck pushed Saul Tigh aside, and reached out to plant her hand on Sharon's belly.

"Shhh," she soothed. "It's all right, Hera; your daddy's not angry anymore. It was just a misunderstanding, but everything's fine now. He's okay … shhh … shhh."

Starbuck began to move her hand, making slow circles above Sharon's uterus. Hera responded instantly to her touch, and quickly settled down.

A stunned silence descended upon the CIC. Sharon looked at Kara in utter amazement. "How could you know," she finally managed to ask. "How could you possibly know the name that I want to give my daughter? Helo doesn't even know."

"Would somebody like to tell me what the hell is going on?"

Doc Cottle was standing in the hatchway. He had come to assist Sharon Agathon, but a quick glance around the CIC suggested that much of the staff was numb with shock.

. . .

"John, the photograph that Admiral Cain shared with me in the control room … it was a picture of her, but it was also a picture of me. The likeness wasn't exact in every detail, but it was close. It was very, very close."

Natalie, D'Anna, and John were seated at a table in the refectory. The plates of food set out before them were now all but forgotten.

"If they didn't know that I was cylon," Natalie continued, "anyone who looked at the photograph would instantly conclude that we're mother and daughter. How can that be?"

Bierns thought it through. "In the first war," he hesitantly began, "some of the worst of the fighting came at the very end. Tauron was a charnel pit, and Hypatia was at its very center. It went on for a long time … street to street, even building to building … and it went on right to the very end. Over three million people died defending the city, and another four hundred thousand simply vanished, never to be seen or heard from again. One of them was a little girl named Lucy Cain … the admiral's younger sister. There's evidence to suggest that by that time the centurions were engaged in medical experiments. Were they trying to create a hybrid? Trying to create an organic machine? No one knew, but Joshua Pinkert … the man who organized the CSS … he suspected that they were trying to create … you."

"So you think that the Sixes are descended in some sense from this Lucy Cain?" D'Anna's expression was thoughtful.

"It seems possible," John agreed. "But how was it done? How were the various models brought into being?"

"We don't know," Natalie conceded; John could hear the frustration in her voice.

"It's hard for us even to think about it," D'Anna added. "Sitting here … the harder I try, the more quickly the thought slips from my grasp. Clearly, we are not meant to know or even to question our origins."

"A programming block," the First Born mused. "Aunt D'Anna, what do you know about the Sevens? There must be a model that was introduced between the Sixes and the Sharons."

"The same answer applies. Thinking about the Sevens … it feels like I'm choking. It's the same way with the missing five."

"Another set of programming blocks," John suggested. "It would seem that your makers had many secrets that they did not want to share with their creations."

"John," Natalie gently asked, "are you sure that your memories are … accurate in every respect? The Threes, Sixes, and Eights … is it possible that your visions of your childhood have been contaminated by the contact that you've had with us over the ensuing years?"

John looked at her curiously. "No. No, it's not possible. Why do you ask?"

"It didn't register until the admiral queried my age. How old are you?"

"Thirty-five."

"And I'm twenty-three … one of the earliest copies of a model that entered production … twenty-four years ago."

"_Huh?"_ Natalie had taken Bierns by complete surprise. "What are you talking about? All three female models were in existence thirty-six years ago. Aunt D'Anna looks exactly like my mother … _exactly_. The Sixes, the Eights … they haven't changed at all!"

"This doesn't make any sense," Natalie concluded. "John, I want you to think back very, very carefully. The second round of the experiments … the one that gave us Kara … in the whole of that time, did you ever see another copy apart from the ones in the room? Did Cavil even make reference to other copies of the various models being somewhere else in the facility?"

"No," he instantly replied; this was familiar terrain. "Centurions came and went with some regularity, but nobody else. And I'm certain that Cavil never alluded to the Twos, Fours, and Fives; I was on the alert for information about them almost from the beginning." John's sense of curiosity was growing stronger by the second. "Natalie, what are you thinking?"

"That it's not simply a question of blocks; we are also programmed with false information. I must be one of the first copies of the _second or even the third _generation of Cylons. Cavil must have slaughtered the entire first generation. Only two questions remain: how many, and why."

John abruptly jumped to his feet, and gazed off in the direction of the _Galactica_. _"Hera,"_ he breathed. "Something's wrong with Hera … with Sharon's baby … she's afraid. . . ."

"But it's going to be okay. Reun's with her." John took a deep breath, and willed himself to remain calm. It was only then that he noticed how strangely D'Anna and Natalie were staring at him.

"You and the hybrid are _connected_ to Sharon's baby? How? How is such a thing possible?" Natalie's tone somehow managed to register both disbelief and awe at the same time.

"Hybrids are all individual pieces of a greater whole," John commented as he returned to his seat. "And it may very well be that Hera is the most important piece of them all."

John closed his eyes and allowed his mind to dance around the edges of an old memory. He forced himself to watch as Cavil sliced the Eight open and ripped out her placenta. He listened yet again to the old man's steady stream of curses. He watched the second Eight die, watched the One divert his obsessive attention to the afterbirth. He thought about Sharon Agathon's near miscarriage, and his own deeply rooted fear that something would still go terribly wrong with her pregnancy. In his mind, the pieces went round and round, as they had so many times over the years … but this time they settled into a frightening pattern, and a look of unmitigated horror washed across his features. It was suddenly so ridiculously obvious that the First Born wondered whether the answer had been lurking in his subconscious all along … wondered whether his fears for Hera had finally triggered the answer. The placenta … the solution to the puzzle had been staring him in the face from the outset. The whole of both experiments had been about the placenta.

"_Dear gods, he wasn't trying to create life … he was trying to destroy it!"_ John opened his eyes and looked at his aunts. "The war, this ongoing attempt to eradicate humankind—_it's the consequence of his failure … a direct extension of the slaughter of your first-born sisters. He isn't at war with humanity. Everything that he's done … it was to prevent you from having children!"_

. . .

"Hey, do you guys remember when Thorne put that 'please disturb' sign up in the brig?" Derek Vireem was having the time of his life.

"Yo, man," one of the marines chuckled; "I got in line twice!"

"I hear that," Gage laughed. "Remember the way she was just laying there, with that blank look on her face?"

"Yeah, Mike, that was all my doing." Another one of the marines was grinning ear to ear. "By the time I got done with her, there was nothing left but dazed and confused!"

Cally Henderson walked away in disgust. She had no love for the Cylons, but she had even less for rapists, and that's exactly how this collection of adolescent beach boys struck her. She wondered just what kind of ship Helena Cain was running.

Mike Gage watched her walk off, and then he turned to his friends. "Come on, guys, I need to take a leak. Anybody know where the nearest enlisted head is on this bucket?" Gage, Vireem, and the three _Pegasus_ marines set off deeper into the ship. They eventually entered a latrine at almost the exact same moment an Eight was exiting one of the toilet stalls.

. . .

Helena Cain changed into civvies for the trip to _Cloud Nine_, and she left her marine escort on board the Raptor when she entered the luxury liner. She was reasonably confident that no one would recognize her out of uniform, and she was going to maintain a very low profile. Neither she nor the _Demand Peace_ leaders wanted to draw attention to this meeting.

The stateroom was plush, but for all that Cain cared, they could have been meeting in a meat locker. "Mr. Jahee," she said to the movement's de facto leader, "I agree with your objectives … but I hope you understand that Roslin and Adama are not tamely going to step aside. I need to know right now: are you ready to see blood on the scales?"

Royan Jahee took off his glasses and held them up to the light while he thought about his answer. "Admiral, I'm not a violent man, and _Demand Peace_ is not a violent movement. But we're realists. We recognize that there comes a time when you have to be prepared to fight for your principles. We're ready, and we'll do what the situation requires."

"Good," Cain remarked. How many of the fleet's captains are sympathetic to your movement?"

"Thirty-five of them will openly support us. Another ten or fifteen won't do or say anything until they can judge the outcome. The rest will side with Roslin."

"Do you have supporters on their ships?"

"Admiral, we have supporters on every ship in the fleet, including _Galactica_ and _Colonial One_."

"All right," Cain nodded, "here's what we're going to do. Roslin has been constantly harassing me, wanting to know when _Pegasus_ will start supplying the fleet with food and medicine. We'll start later on today … but some of the crates are going to house small arms, assault rifles, grenades, and anything else we think you might need. Make sure that any crate with a stenciled 'X' in its log number gets handled by your people. We're planning a big op for a couple of days from now, and Adama will undoubtedly order the fleet to jump to emergency stand-by coordinates before we engage. As soon as you come out of jump, I want you to assault the bridge of every ship that you think will remain loyal to Roslin and Adama. Terminate the captains, and make it clear to the first officers that you'll execute them as well if they don't cooperate. Once you've secured the bridge, move on to the engine room. Then sweep every ship in the fleet. Openly pro-Cylon sympathizers are to be shot on the spot, but any Cylons who happen to be in the fleet are to be put in irons. Don't kill them … a resurrection ship will be within range, so they'll merely download into new bodies. Besides, I have something else in mind for them."

"What about _Galactica_ and the baseship," a tough-looking, heavily tattooed female wanted to know.

"I'll have a team in _Galactica's_ CIC," Cain responded. "At the appropriate time, they will terminate the whole of Adama's command, starting with Adama himself. One of our Viper pilots will take out the baseship's FTL's, and _Galactica _and _Pegasus_ will then move in for the kill. We'll blow the baseship, but the Cylons themselves will all download onto a nearby resurrection ship. Once we capture it, we'll offer the ship to the Cavils in exchange for a permanent peace." Helena Cain had no intention of doing any such thing, of course, but she was not about to disclose her real plan to a bunch of starry-eyed civilians who were stupid enough to believe that the Cylons would actually honor an agreement. She would use them, take what she wanted, and then get _Pegasus_ and _Galactica_ back into the fight.

"Well, Admiral," Royan Jahee said as he held out his hand, "it looks like this fleet is finally going to get the leadership it deserves."

"Indeed, Mr. Jahee," Helena agreed, "it most certainly will." None of the _Demand Peace_ leaders caught the irony in her voice.

. . .

"Whoa, guys, look at what we've got here!" Derek Vireem couldn't believe their good fortune. "Hey, Mike, what do they call the little robot chicks around here? Skin jobs?"

"Roger that … and what 'skin' this 'job' has! Wow! She may be a different model, but she's just as hot as the one in the brig …"

"Hotter," one of the marines cut in. "This one actually knows that we're here."

The Eight silently shook her head in disgust, and walked over to the sink to wash her hands. Gage came up close behind her, and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

"Hey, sweetheart, do you have a name?"

The Eight suddenly whipped around to confront him. "Get out of my way," she growled.

"Whoa, that's not very friendly," Gage countered. He made no attempt to move. "We're your new shipmates, sweetheart, and we'd like to make your acquaintance. We're having a party. Why don't you join us?"

"I have a job to do. Now, _get … out … of my way._"

Gage turned his head to look at his buddies. "You know what, guys … I don't think she likes humans. I'll bet she thinks she's better than us. What do you think? Should we teach her some manners?"

Gage suddenly reached out and gripped the Eight by the throat, choking her. Vireem stepped in close and ripped off her blouse while one of the marines jerked her trousers down around her ankles. He tore off her panties and shoved two fingers deep into her vagina.

"What the frak," the Eight moaned, disbelief and fear fighting with one another for possession of her brain.

"Nah, she's not ready," the marine grunted. "Derek, grab me that bar of soap. I'll lather her up … get her all hot and bothered."

"Dexter," Gage said to a second marine … "guard the hatch. Make sure that we're not disturbed. And don't worry, man, we'll warm her up for you. Hey, let's duck walk her over to the last sink and stretch her out. Before we show her a good time, she needs to learn how to say 'please' and 'thank you'. . . ."

"Okay, okay … Calvin, you got a good hold on her wrists? Good. Put her on her tippy toes … good!"

Gage took off his belt, got a grip on the loose end, and lashed out with the buckle. It tore into the Eight's buttock, drawing blood.

The Eight screamed, but the first marine was ready for her. He shoved the bar of soap deep into her mouth, cutting off her screams but nearly asphyxiating her in the process. Gage slashed her buttocks several more times with the buckle, and then he threw the belt aside and brutally mounted her from the rear. . . .

For Giana O'Neill, it seemed like this was her fortieth trip to the head since awakening. She was sure that the baby was kicking, and he seemed to specialize in tweaking her bladder. Her need to pee was now close to continuous … and she didn't appreciate having a hulking _Pegasus_ marine tell her that a facility she had visited not twenty minutes before was now out of order. And then she heard what sounded like muffled screams. She turned away and walked steadily down the corridor. Turning the corner, she picked up the first comm link that she came to.

"Shelly, CIC."

"Shelly, this is Giana. "I'm on B deck. I think something terrible is happening in the enlisted head off Causeway Alpha at frame 42. You need to get a marine fire team in there ASAP!"

"I'm on it, Giana. Clear the line."

Shelly got up and walked over to where her husband was standing at the central console. "Bill, I just spoke with Giana O'Neill. She believes that we have a … situation … in the latrine on B deck at Alpha-42." Shelly looked squarely at Adama, the unspoken message easily read in her eyes. The admiral didn't hesitate; he picked up the phone and called the marine duty station. In a matter of seconds, Sergeant Erin Mathias was leading a fire team at double time toward Alpha-42. . . .

"On your knees, hands behind your head" Mathias barked. "Do it now!" She had her assault rifle centered on Private Dexter Horvett's forehead.

"What the frak? Gunny, this head is currently off limits. Butt out!"

"Private, I'll order you one more time, and then I'll blow your brains out. Now, get on your knees!"

Horvett slowly complied, and one of Mathias' marines stepped in to disarm him.

"If he moves," she told the soldier … "shoot him." Mathias opened the hatch, and took in the whole scene in one glance. One of the marines went for his sidearm. Mathias waited until it had cleared his holster, and then she shot him in the head.

"_Let her go,"_ she yelled. "You three, on your stomachs, hands behind your backs … _do it_!"

"Mr. Ditko … phone sick bay and tell them that we need a med team in here stat! Let them know that it's a rape incident, and that we need female medics. Ask for Ishay … she'll know what to do. And if you see a Three, Six or Eight out there, send them in. And somebody … find me a blanket!"

The Eight was down on all fours and screaming hysterically, so Mathias rapidly came to a decision. "Mr. Da Silva, take over. If one of these bastards moves, shoot all three of them!" She hurried to the Eight, got down on her own knees, and pulled the young Cylon protectively close.

. . .

A few minutes after Cain and Jahee departed the stateroom, Dino Panattes quietly let himself in. Panattes was the muscle that had kept Eric Phelan's stable of high-class hookers in line, but he had also been responsible for protecting them against the more savage impulses of their well-heeled clients. Back in the Colonies the Ditchdigger had earned his nickname by planting a lot of bodies for Eric Phelan, but the gangster had to admit that the new management was a hell of a lot more thorough than Phelan had ever been. Bierns had wasted no time wiring every stateroom on _Cloud Nine_, and he had given Panattes standing orders to forward anything of interest to the Six.

The Ditchdigger was very much in the market for a Six to call his own, and he only had to listen to the audio once to realize that his chances had just soared. When he was finished, Dino went straight to the departure lounge and booked a seat on the next shuttle to _Prometheus_.

. . .

"Admiral, the baseship has jumped away."

"Did they launch Vipers or Raiders before making the jump?"

"No, Admiral."

"Thank you, Mr. Hoshi." _So, half of Galactica's Vipers have been removed from the scene._ "Please get Commander Adama on the line. . . ."

"Actual."

"Commander, I've been out of the CIC, but I've just been informed that one of my men is dead, and that you're holding four others under arrest. Is this true?"

"Correct. One of your marines drew his weapon on Gunnery Sergeant Erin Mathias. She shot him in self-defense. The other four were caught in the act of raping a female civilian worker. They're in the brig, and will be court-martialed in due course."

"It's my understanding that the 'civilian worker' in question is a Cylon. Is this also true?"

"Yes, it is …"

"You can't rape a machine, Commander."

"Tell that to the Eight whom they assaulted," Adama snorted. "President Roslin has formally recognized the Cylons as sentient beings, so the Eight deserves and will receive justice. In this fleet, as a matter of law we do not discriminate between Cylons and humans."

"I've read Roslin's so-called Accord," Cain snarled, "and at no point does it grant the Cylons civil rights or even invite them to make such a claim. But I will offer you a compromise. I gather that all five of them had been drinking. _Pegasus_ isn't a cocktail lounge, Commander, and I take this sort of thing rather seriously. Return my men, and I guarantee you that each of them will do ninety days in the brig."

"I strongly doubt that the Cylon commander would regard ninety days in the brig as adequate punishment for sexual assault. I'm thinking more along the lines of twenty-five years at hard labor, under the watchful eyes of a squad of centurions."

"Commander, I'm dispatching a Raptor. Please arrange to have my men waiting on the hangar deck. I also want this Sergeant Mathias to come over here and explain to me personally just why she felt it was necessary to shoot Private Xanthis. Tell her that she would be well advised to come up with a better excuse than protecting a machine from sexual assault." Cain hung up before Adama had a chance to respond.

Cain turned to Kendra Shaw. "Captain, I want you to assemble a marine strike team. I'm putting you personally in charge of this operation. I want your team outbound in a Raptor in the next ten minutes. Your orders are to proceed to _Galactica_, and bring our people home."

. . .

Starbuck was drifting slowly through the heart of the Cylon fleet, her diagonal course cutting across both the X and Y axes [Figure 1]. She could hear the steady clicking of the range finder as it returned echoes from the fifteen vessels that made up the fleet, as well as the more intermittent sound of the surveillance package shooting its automated pictures. To her left, Kara first saw the Centurion manufacturing ship; then she glided past a Cylon transport before coming abreast of the breathtakingly beautiful resurrection ship. It was so close that she could make out the faces of thousands of Sixes staring sightlessly into space. Looking to her right, she could make out the starfish design of a baseship and the equally distinctive lines of an agricultural ship off in the distance, with the Raider and Heavy Raider manufacturing platforms closer to hand.

Running with its engines cold and its lights extinguished, the blackbird was invisible to Cylon DRADIS. Kara thought about the missile pods being built into the second generation stealth ship, and she began to squirm with excitement. Half a dozen heavily armed blackbirds could turn most of this fleet into slag before the Cylons even realized that they were under attack.

The Cylon fleet was spread out across an immense volume of space—more than twenty-one million cubic kilometers. It wasn't until she passed the two tankers on her left that she understood why. Relative to the galactic plane, everything associated with tylium production and storage was strung out north of the fleet's center line along both axes, while the resurrection and manufacturing ships were all to the south. If one of the tankers were to go boom, the Cylons wanted to minimize the damage.

Starbuck didn't need a computer to calculate the entry points for the baseship and the two battlestars. _Galactica_ and _Pegasus_ could flank the resurrection ship, and simultaneously isolate it from the two baseships, which were on opposite sides of the fleet. The resurrection ship, the Cylon transport, and the two Raider manufacturing platforms were roughly equidistant from one another in a diamond formation. If the baseship jumped into the center, it could launch missiles against all four ships and destroy them before they had a chance to scatter.

The blackbird left the Cylon fleet behind, and continued to glide toward the rendezvous point. Kara Thrace could already see the entire operation in her head. The Cylons didn't know it yet, but they were about to lose the single most critical component of the support ships that sustained the hunt for _Galactica_ and her civilian charges.

. . .

"Admiral," Shelly called out, "I'm showing one Raptor inbound from the _Pegasus_."

Adama picked up his phone. "Dee, give me the LSO."

"Captain Kelly."

"Mr. Kelly, this is the Admiral. There is a Raptor inbound. Mag lock is not, I repeat _not_, authorized for this bird. Tell them," Bill said with a hard smile, "that the cocktail lounge is currently off limits to all _Pegasus _personnel."

"Yes, sir."

. . .

"Admiral, this is Captain Shaw. We are being waved off by the _Galactica_ LSO. Awaiting instructions."

"Captain, this is _Pegasus _Actual. You will proceed to enter the portside landing pod as previously instructed. Make hard seal, and stand by."

Cain turned to the petty officer at the tactical station. "Launch Red Team," she ordered. "Get Blue Team in the tubes. And I want a marine strike force at platoon strength on the deck in full armor ASAP. Have twenty Raptors fully prepped and ready for launch in fifteen minutes. . . ."

"Admiral," Lieutenant Hoshi announced, "Commander Adama is on the line."

. . .

"Admiral, _Pegasus_ has just launched Vipers."

"Thank you, Shelly. Sharon, launch the balance of Red Squadron. Dee, once our birds are in the air, I want you to pass the word: do not fire unless fired upon. I repeat, do not fire unless fired upon." Adama paused for a moment, his thoughts racing. "Shelly, who do we have flying the Heavy Raider on CAP?"

"Sonja."

"Dee, put me through to Sonja on a scrambled channel. I don't want _Pegasus_ eavesdropping."

"This is Sonja."

"Sonja, this is Actual. Has Major Bierns by any chance given you jump coordinates for _Pegasus'_ kill slot?"

"Uh … yes, sir," she slowly admitted.

"And it follows, I suppose, that you have nukes in your ordnance?"

"Yes, Admiral … four ship to ship missiles."

"Very good. Stand by."

_Gods bless Bierns,_ Adama thought. _The son of a bitch took Cain's measure at the outset … and he'll do whatever it takes to defend this alliance. _

Bill glanced around the CIC. "Private Jaffee, go down to the hangar deck. You'll find the XO and Colonel Fisk in the tool room. Tell them that I want their sorry asses up here on the double."

. . .

"_Galactica_, this is Kat. I've got inbound _Pegasus _vipers coming right at me. Request weapons free."

"Negative, Kat," Dualla instantly replied. "Yours orders are not to fire unless fired upon. I repeat, do not fire unless fired upon."

"_Galactica_, Hot Dog. One of these frakkers just pulled into my kill slot!"

"Hot Dog, Freaker, watch your Six! He's all over you!"

Hot Dog yanked violently on his stick, pushed his Viper hard to starboard, and then took it straight down. He gave it a few seconds, flipped his bird end to end, and then poured on the acceleration. He headed straight for the _Pegasus_ jock that had been tormenting him.

Icebox was more than willing to play this game. In the wilder days of his not so long ago youth on Canceron, he had raced for pink slips. Two cars on opposite ends of a levee, with shallow embankments falling away on either side, raced towards one another at full tilt over a distance of three kilometers. The chicken was the one who blinked and took his car over the edge of the embankment. Icebox had never blinked … and he wasn't about to start now.

"Come and get some, you mother frakker! Yeah, let's do this!"

At the last second, Hot Dog rolled his Viper to starboard; when he came out of his loop, to his great surprise he found himself in the kill slot of still another _Pegasus_ bird.

"_Galactica_, Hot Dog. Request weapons free. Repeat, request weapons free!"

. . .

"Ah, Colonel Tigh, Colonel Fisk … I'm sorry to interrupt the festivities." Adama gestured at the telephone on the opposite side of the console. Colonel Fisk, in a few moments, I am going to put you in contact with Cain. Keep your eye on the DRADIS console; I want you to relay what you are about to see and hear directly to her."

"Petty Officer Dualla," Adama said in a deliberately calm tone of voice, "would you please reconnect me with Sonja Six."

"Sonja."

"Six, this is Actual. When we are finished, you are ordered to jump into _Pegasus'_ kill slot with all weapons hot. If you are attacked, or if _Pegasus_ initiates hostilities against _Galactica_, you are weapons free. Bring _Pegasus_ down. The use of nuclear weapons is authorized; I repeat, the use of nuclear weapons is authorized."

"Understood, Actual; Sonja out."

Adama glanced at Jack Fisk. The alcohol induced ruddy glow that had marked his features when he entered the CIC had all but vanished.

"New DRADIS contact," Shelly announced. "Sonja is in their kill slot, distance two MU's." She looked at Fisk. "I hope that she's wearing dark glasses," Shelly mocked, "because at that range the glare from your sublights must be pretty intense."

"Dee, get Cain on the line," Adama ordered.

. . .

"Admiral," Lieutenant Hoshi announced, "Commander Adama is on the line."

"Adama," Cain said without preamble, "I have a Raptor parked in your portside landing bay. Lower it to the deck, and surrender my men to the marines on board. This is the only warning you're going to get!"

"Uh, Admiral … this is Colonel Fisk. I'm in the _Galactica_ CIC. Be advised that you have a Heavy Raider two MU's aft your stern. Her weapons are hot, and the Cylon pilot has already been authorized to shoot _Pegasus_ down. The Raider is armed with nukes, Admiral … repeat, the Heavy Raider is armed with nukes."

"Helena, this is Adama. I'm through playing around here. Recall your Vipers, and get your frakking Raptor off my deck. Your men were caught in the act of raping a Cylon female … one of our allies, Admiral. The crime was committed on this ship, and they will be tried here before a military tribunal. If you wish to supply legal counsel for the defendants, please feel free. If you wish personally to witness the proceedings and to testify on their behalf, that is also your privilege. But if you make any further attempt to interfere in this matter, I will airlock the bastards … and I will send you and your ship straight to hell. You have five minutes to comply."

"All right, joint recall," Cain angrily replied. She was staring up at the DRADIS, and she could see that Adama wasn't bluffing. "Both ships stand down to condition two. Then I want both you and this Sergeant Mathias to report to me directly, in person. We are going to sort out the question of who's the senior flag officer in this fleet once and for all."

"No, Admiral, we're not. Frankly, you are more trouble than you're worth. Why don't you just jump away, and go back to fighting Cain's last stand? My job is to defend this fleet and what's left of humanity, and I can do both a lot more efficiently without you and _Pegasus_ gumming up the works."

"No! I want that Cylon supply column, and you're going to help me get it. So, we'll meet on neutral ground. Roslin's office on _Colonial One_ … I want you to meet me there in fifteen minutes … no aides."

"Agreed … but we'll wait until the baseship returns. We might as well see what Bierns and Thrace have come up with. If a joint strike mission seems worthwhile, we'll talk about it. Otherwise, I want you to get the hell away from this fleet!"

. . .

"All right, let's start by admitting to some pretty ugly truths." Roslin glared angrily first at Adama and then at Cain. "Admiral Cain … Admiral Adama … what just happened out there makes me wonder if this fleet would be best served if I stripped the pair of you of your commands. Did you both take leave of your senses? The enemy, in case you have both forgotten it, is the Cylons! We cannot continue to let petty jealousies about rank and seniority …"

"Oh, let's just dispense with the schoolroom lecture," Cain said in disgust. "One of his noncoms murdered one of my marines, and she did so in order to protect a Cylon … a machine. He's arrested four other _Pegasus_ personnel for raping said machine. Well, hello! You can't rape an inflatable doll, and that's all the Cylons really are … blow-up dolls with very sharp and dangerous teeth. What those four men did was nothing more than masturbation, which is not a crime. However, they are guilty of drinking while on duty, and I have already assured _Commander_ Adama that they'll accordingly get ninety days in the brig for dereliction of duty."

"Admiral, how many times do we have to explain to you that the Cylons in this fleet are not the enemy? _They are our allies!_ Surely you must understand that it is very much to our tactical advantage to foster rifts within the Cylon collective. To put it in its simplest terms, every Cylon who chooses to fight for us is one less Cylon that we have to fight against!"

"My gods, is this what the three of you have been doing since the attacks? Dreaming up reasons to forgive the enemy? Taking them into your beds? Giving them children? This is obscene. They killed over fifty billion of us! They destroyed our entire civilization! They are all guilty of genocide, and the only accepted penalty for that crime is death! All of them, Madame President … not some of them … all of them … are complicit in genocide. Talk about taking leave of your senses!"

"Helena," Bierns interrupted, "you're smarter than this. History teaches us that the enemy whom we seek to destroy in one war often becomes our best friend and firmest ally in the next. That's why clever leaders never demonize the enemy. Oh, and while I'm at it—since when do blow-up dolls get pregnant? And Gina Inviere … do you really expect us to believe that she was never anything more to you than an inflatable toy? I've read your Lieutenant Thorne's logs, Admiral. You can't inflict pain on a mannequin. You can't humiliate a mannequin. Blow-up dolls don't bleed, and you don't torture them for military intelligence. No, this is about your parents. It's about the sister whom you left behind for the centurions to capture. And it's about you being taken in hook, line, and sinker by Gina Inviere. You're not fighting a war; for you, this is nothing more than a gods given chance to take your revenge upon the people who've helped you frak up your life."

Cain jumped to her feet. "You son of a …"

"_Sit down,"_ Roslin roared. She stood up, planted her palms firmly on the desk in front of her, and leaned forward to stare Helena Cain down. "You want to cut through it, Admiral? Well, fine … here's the thing. You've got _Pegasus_, but Adama has _Galactica_ and the baseship. You're outgunned, and far worse than you can possibly imagine. You calculate jump coordinates to the twelfth decimal point. Well, guess what. Major Bierns and Reun … the hybrid who controls the baseship … together they compute jumps to the _fifteenth_ decimal point! They could input jump coordinates that would materialize a Raider inside your CIC! You have no frakking idea what hybrids can do, but you ought to get down on your knees and thank the gods that they're on our side … our side being the Cylon-human alliance that you're so eager to destroy. So, you are _not_ getting your men back. They're guilty, Admiral, and they are going to be called to account for their crime. Cylon, human … it doesn't matter. No one gets away with rape in this fleet, Admiral. Do you hear me? _No one!_"

Cain shook her head in open disbelief. "How the three of you have managed to survive this long I will never know. Never mind. Major Thrace has already forwarded detailed recon information on the Cylon fleet. I want that supply train, and I need _Galactica_ to get it, so I'll pay your price. If the baseship wants to come along for the ride … well, I'm sure that we can find something for them to do."

"That's it, then," Roslin concluded. The destruction of the Cylon fleet will take priority over all other considerations. But afterwards, I expect the two of you to behave like grown-ups and find an amicable way to resolve this absurd dispute about which of you outranks the other. If you can't arrive at a solution, I'll impose one."

Roslin glanced at Adama, who was sunk deep in his chair. "Admiral, you haven't said a word. Do you have anything to contribute to this conversation?"

"Not really, Madame President. I'll put Major Thrace to work drawing up an operational order for the battle. As you know, when it comes to out-of-the-box thinking, she's in a class by herself." Adama looked contemptuously at Helena Cain. "It probably has something to do with her being a hybrid … you know … the offspring of one of those inflatable dolls that Admiral Cain keeps going on about."

Cain looked venomously at Adama, and then she got to her feet and stormed out of the President's office.

"Gentlemen, will there be anything else," Roslin asked.

"Yes," Adama and Bierns both replied, more or less simultaneously.

. . .

"Jump a Raider into their CIC? Really, Madame President, don't you think you were laying it on a little thick?" Bierns had a huge grin on his face.

"Well," Roslin conceded, "I may have been exaggerating a little, but it isn't easy to puncture that woman's self-assurance. Admiral, what's on your mind?"

"Cain's XO had a heart-to-heart with Saul Tigh," Adama said. "About a week after the attacks, _Pegasus_ came across a civilian fleet in deep space. Fifteen ships, all FTL equipped. Cain stripped them for parts and supplies, and cast them adrift—but only after impressing some of the passengers … people whose skills Cain reckoned could be put to good use on _Pegasus_. When some of the selectees objected, Fisk and Kendra Shaw put their families up against the bulkhead and executed them. Fisk wasn't about to disobey that order—not after seeing the previous XO executed in the CIC for trying to get Cain to walk away from an obvious Cylon trap."

"Cain's holding a Cylon prisoner in the brig … a Six." Bierns frowned thoughtfully. "Gina Inviere was Cain's lover. She ran a classic penetration operation, and she ended up with near total access to every critical system on the ship. When they get caught, spies and saboteurs normally end up in front of a firing squad, but Cain decided to park her lover in the brig. She was repeatedly tortured, gang raped and sodomized … the list of indictable offences in the OOD's log just goes on and on."

"I wish I could say that I was surprised," Roslin commented, "but it's who she is. She's ruthless, and she plays for keeps. Bill, she won't hesitate to kill you … to kill both of you. Don't give her the chance."

John Bierns laughed. "Madame President, you are an amazingly astute judge of character. I think both of you should listen to this audiotape. One of Eric Phelan's associates in the black market, who has … um … subsequently reformed and is now working for me, passed it to the Six with no name. She contacted me before I left the baseship, and made arrangements personally to deliver it to me when I boarded _Colonial One_. She's still here; if you want to authenticate what you're about to hear, she can come up and give you additional information."

"_As soon as you come out of jump, I want you to assault the bridge of every ship that you think will remain loyal to Roslin and Adama. Terminate the captains …"_

"_Sweep every ship in the fleet. Openly pro-Cylon sympathizers are to be shot on the spot …" _

"_I'll have a team in Galactica's CIC. At the appropriate time, they will terminate the whole of Adama's command, starting with Adama himself …"_

"She's mad," Roslin whispered. "She's quite literally mad. There are so few of us left, and she wants to unleash a bloodbath."

Bierns nodded. "Admiral, I have countermeasures in place to deal with an uprising on _Galactica. _Apart from your wife, every Cylon who enters the CIC is armed, and the same goes for Cylons in critical positions throughout the ship. But I didn't anticipate the possibility that _Demand Peace _would mobilize fleet wide. Six and I can use Phelan's black market operation to set up a rudimentary defense, but we lack both the numbers and the armament to hold off a well-armed insurgency for very long. Madame President, Admiral … for once I have to confess that I'm in over my head. If either of you has a bright idea, I'd sure like to hear it!"

"You armed the Cylons on _Galactica_ without authorization? Without even consulting me?"

"Bill, they're your bodyguards. They're …"

"Let it go, Admiral." Roslin gazed steadily at Adama. "John was carrying out a direct presidential order."

"_What?_ You're interfering with my command again? I frakking well don't believe this!"

"Admiral, I'm _saving_ your command. _Demand Peace_ is a civilian problem, but we have reason to believe that they've penetrated your marine contingent. The Cylons are the only people in this mess that I trust."

"My gods, the whole world's gone mad." Adama shook his head in despair.

"Be that as it may, Admiral, we are now caught up in a situation that is rapidly spinning out of control."

Roslin redirected her gaze to John Bierns. "Major, not so long ago you told me that the best way to deal with _Demand Peace_ was to decapitate their leadership. Is that still our best option?"

"Madame President, it wouldn't hurt," Bierns said pensively. "But if _Pegasus_ has already begun supplying the fleet with arms, things will in all likelihood spontaneously erupt. It would help to know how far along Cain's operation has already got."

"I agree," Roslin commented. "Admiral, when you return to _Galactica_, it would be useful if you went through your logs of recent traffic within the fleet, especially traffic with _Pegasus_ as its point of origin. Royan Jahee probably considers _Prometheus_, _Virgon Express_, _Monarch_ and _Majahual_ to be pro-Cylon. Let's see if they've been in contact with _Pegasus_ recently. On the other side, _Cloud Nine_, _Astral Queen_, and _Inchon Velle_ are probably crawling with _Demand Peace_ sympathizers. If we can detect a pattern to their shipments, we can see how _Demand Peace_ is classifying the fleet and plan accordingly."

Roslin turned back to John Bierns. "Major, I want you to supply arms to your friends in the black market—but take what you need from the baseship. You'll draw less attention that way. Turn _Prometheus_ into a fortress, and make arrangements for two Heavy Raiders to land on her deck just before the fleet jumps away. I want your friend the Six to have two squads of centurions at her disposal, and I want them armed with portable anti-ship missile launchers. Do I have to spell out the rest of it?"

"No, Madame President. I hear you loud and clear."

"Good. Now, about Cain: I'm afraid this can only end one way. You'll have to kill her."

"Agreed. I'll take care of it."

"Wait a second. What the hell are the two of you talking about," Adama protested. "We cannot just sit here and calmly plan the assassination of an admiral of the fleet! We are … not … assassins!"

"No, Bill, _you're_ not an assassin. You're a Colonial officer, and your actions are constrained by your sense of honor and duty. But what do you think Cain is going to do with the civilian fleet once she's eliminated the two of us? You know I'm right, but you don't want to deal with it. Well, you don't have to. It's taken me a long time to catch on, but I finally understand what it really means to be President of the Colonies. Presidents can't afford to be honorable, and the Colonial Secret Service has always been there to help them get down in the mud. John was Richard Adar's hatchet man, and now he's mine. I've just signed Helena Cain's death warrant, and he'll relieve me of that particular headache. So, now let's move on and talk about _Pegasus_. We can't send Cain into battle with a Heavy Raider permanently affixed to her tail. We need another plan, and preferably one that doesn't culminate in a free-for-all between two heavily armed capital ships. I don't fancy _Galactica's_ chances in a straight-up fight with _Pegasus_, and I do not want the baseship to become mixed up in this mess. It's our problem, and we are going to deal with it ourselves."

Laura Roslin got up from her desk and walked around to stand directly in front of John Bierns. "Major," she said as she looked down at him, "I need to know this right now. While we may all fervently hope that her next commander will see reason, still … if it comes down to it, can you take _Pegasus_ off the boards?"

Bierns considered the question carefully. "I presume you mean without tangible assistance from either _Galactica_ or the baseship. No, I can't. But I can certainly break her back."

"That's good enough. Major, I know how much you would like to get involved, but I want you to leave the operational planning for the attack on the Cylon fleet to Kara Thrace. I need you to focus on _Demand Peace_. You have my explicit permission to do whatever it takes to make that headache go away." She looked at him pointedly.

"I understand, Madame President. But in that case … Admiral, I would like formally to request that Sharon Agathon, Felix Gaeta, Sonja, and the anonymous Six who's currently working the nav station with Shelly and Lydia be temporarily relieved of duty and reassigned to the baseship."

"May I ask why, Major?"

"Two reasons, Admiral. First, now that Sharon is showing, it wouldn't be a bad idea to remind the Cylons what it is that they're actually fighting for. And secondly, I'm worried that Kara's plan will be as high-risk as what she laid out for the assault on the tylium mining operation back on the asteroid. Lieutenant Gaeta is more risk-averse, so I'm hoping that his team can come up with something that doesn't put all of us on a tightrope in the middle of a windstorm."

"Very well, you can have all four of them. They'll be on the baseship within the next two hours." Adama got up and prepared to leave. "You know," he said as he left the chamber, "there's really very little to choose between Helena Cain and the three of us."

Roslin waited until Adama had left, and then she turned back to John Bierns. There was still one piece of unfinished business between them. The President walked around her desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a thin file. She reached out and handed it to the spook.

"Major, here are the eight warrants that you requested. _If_ these people survive the insurrection, go ahead and arrest them. Frankly, I would be much happier if you would deal with this headache in your customary way, but in any event, _don't you ever again come into this office and accuse me of being an accomplice to rape!_"

. . .

"Our primary objective," Starbuck said as she began her briefing in _Galactica's_ War Room, "is a vessel that the Cylons call the resurrection ship." She laid a pile of photographs from her recent reconnaissance of the Cylon fleet in the middle of the plot. "It's guarded by two baseships, and it's surrounded by a dozen other ships of various size and purpose, including three Colonial vessels of indeterminate purpose that date from the first war." Kara laid out more photographs, showing the relative positions of the ships to one another along the X axis.

Starbuck paused to take in the faces surrounding her. The War Room was crowded, but her first thought was that this was the most unlikely gathering in the history of colonial warfare. John was there along with Sharon Agathon, Shelly and Creusa, so the hybrids now and future were well represented. Natalie, D'Anna, Sonja and an unnamed Six rounded out the Cylon contingent. Lee Adama had joined his father and Saul Tigh, and the _Pegasus_ XO had accompanied Helena Cain. Laura Roslin was there in her presidential capacity. The only person for whom Kara could not readily account was Felix Gaeta.

"Admiral Cain's staff believes that this fleet is jumping from system to system, searching out tylium and other vital natural resources. This is consistent with the composition of the fleet, which is heavily oriented to manufacturing and storage. My plan, simply put, is to let them find us. We will jump into this system here, which is directly on their current course relative to the galactic plane." Starbuck tapped one particular entry on the star chart that took up most of the plot several times for emphasis.

"_Monarch_ and _Majahual_ will be down on the surface of two large asteroids, where they will appear to be conducting mining operations. _Galactica_, the baseship, and the rest of the fleet will be in near space with the usual Viper CAP, while a picket of three hundred Raiders will be overflying the two mining ships. When the two baseships launch their Raiders, _Galactica_ will recall the CAP and jump with the civilian ships. The baseship and her Raiders will, however, remain in place. We want the Cylons to think that we have miners scattered all over the surface of the asteroids, and that Admiral Adama has committed the rebel baseship and her Raider assets to their defense."

Kara moved a number of miniature Cylon Raiders into position on the plot.

"Once the Cylon Raiders close in to make their attack run, Sonja will hit them with a computer virus. If it works against Cavil's forces as well as it did for us in a war game, our Raiders will leave them to their own devices and move in to combat whatever reserves are deployed around the baseships. If it fails, hundreds of Raiders will end up committed to an aerial duel inside the asteroid field. Of course, _Monarch_ and _Majahual _will have long since jumped away."

Kara positioned a single Viper model in the middle of the Cylon fleet.

"At this point I will be piloting the blackbird into the heart of the Cylon fleet, with the objective of taking out the FTL drives on the resurrection ship. Natalie will come out of jump close to it, and she will hurl logic bombs at both flanking enemy warships. _Galactica_ and _Pegasus _will arrive on the scene mere seconds later, and they will engage both baseships at point blank range while our Viper squadrons encircle the resurrection ship and destroy it. The rebel baseship will be outside the blast range, yet so positioned that its missile batteries can reinforce either or both battlestars. The Vipers will then go after any stragglers that have not yet jumped away, and add them to our tally."

"Why not arm the blackbird with nukes and have her take out the resurrection ship at the start," Tigh wanted to know.

"I ran simulations on that," Thrace replied. "The nukes kept setting off radiological alarms, and enemy Raiders invariably destroyed the stealth ship before it got within weapons range."

"How many squadrons," Adama asked.

"All of them, sir."

"You're holding nothing in reserve? What about the civvies?"

"The same as over Kobol … one Raptor and six Vipers will babysit the fleet. Everything else is on the board."

"Is there a problem, Bill?" Helena Cain was not about to reopen the thorny question of William Adama's rank in the middle of this briefing.

"I'm concerned about the lack of reserves," Adama responded. "We fought a battle over Kobol, and I didn't hold enough back. If Natalie hadn't intervened …"

"I tend to agree," Cain said. She relished the expressions of surprise that swept across the room. "If the resurrection ship is as soft a target as the Cylons have indicated, then half a squadron of Vipers should be enough to get the job done. I suggest that we both hold a half dozen Vipers and a couple of Raptors in reserve, and disperse our ships to shoot down other enemy vessels. There's a tylium processing ship close to the principal target, and a tanker not much farther out. I really want the two tankers. Good luck to the Cylons chasing the fleet if we eliminate their fuel reserves!"

"Mr. Gaeta has been working on an alternative plan," Adama remarked, "together with Sharon, Sonja, and Six. Lieutenant, how would you evaluate Major Thrace's plan?"

"Sir, it has two obvious drawbacks. First, it depends heavily on the Cylons falling for a feint that is awfully similar to the one that Major Thrace executed in the asteroid operation. I think it unlikely that the Cylons will fall for the same trick twice. I would expect that at most they will send out six hundred Raiders to attack the mining ships, but that will leave them with almost a thousand Raiders to defend the baseships. We could easily find ourselves jumping into a hornet's nest. But the strategic point is arguably just as important. Simply put, Admirals, this plan hurts the Cylons, but it really doesn't do anything to help us."

Felix looked at Natalie. Gaeta and his three Cylon collaborators had asked the Cylon commander to make their pitch for them.

"We have something else in mind," Natalie said as she looked around the room. "We propose to capture the Cylon fleet."

"What do you mean," Roslin asked; "the resurrection ship?"

"No, Madame President. We propose to capture the Cylon fleet … the whole of it."

"You can't be serious," Adama retorted. "There are two baseships out there!"

"Admiral, you're absolutely right," Natalie coolly agreed … "and we want both of them."

"This is absurd," Cain interrupted. "We don't have the resources for such an operation. We have to hit them hard … get in and get out fast, with the minimum number of casualties."

"Admiral," Sonja explained, "the operation we've laid out does not require Cylon cooperation. We'll incorporate Kara's ruse into our plan, but frankly, it doesn't particularly matter to us whether the Cylons take the bait or not. Yes, our thinking is more ambitious, but it also involves fewer contingencies. We've taken out all but two variables, and both of them are within our control."

"What are they?" Roslin had beaten everybody else to the punch.

"My son needs to learn how to pilot the blackbird," D'Anna submitted. "And it would also be helpful if he killed the Six being held in the _Pegasus_ brig about ninety minutes before the strike."


	21. Chapter 21: Phoenix Rising

**WARNING: THIS CHAPER CONTAINS MILD SEXUAL VIOLENCE**

**This site does not support elaborate diagrams and figures, so I have created a website specifically for this purpose. The http address is longjourneyhomedotwebsdotcom (type it in the customary format). Figure 1 should come up automatically; please scroll down for figure 2.**

CHAPTER 21

PHOENIX RISING

"So let me get this straight. Four of my men are sitting in _Galactica's_ brig awaiting a court martial. They're charged with raping a machine, and it's been made clear to me that the trial will be an empty formality. They've already been found guilty, and they're going to be condemned to twenty-five years at hard labor. But you want me to take _Pegasus_ close enough to a resurrection ship to allow a kindred machine that is personally responsible for the deaths of hundreds of men and women to download into a nice, shiny new body. My men rot, and Gina Inviere ends up being hailed as a hero. Is this how you people define justice?"

"Admiral," Bierns said with more than a trace of impatience in his voice, "if you had executed the Six when you first discovered what she was, she would have downloaded. At least this way, we can make use of her. She wants to die, so we oblige her. Kara and I will tell her that we're safely beyond resurrection range, and after we leave you come in and kill her. She wakes up in the proverbial vat of goo, and starts screaming bloody murder. The attendees will get an earful … how she was betrayed by her own daughter … blah, blah and blah, blah, blah. Word will spread quickly to both baseships, which will be so caught up in accusations and denials that the Cylons will be slow to react to our arrival. We hit the hybrids with logic bombs, the Raiders with a virus, and we broadcast a message of peace and good will on every frequency at our disposal. We invite the Cylons to make common cause with their children, offer them an amnesty for their part in the attacks …"

"And allow several thousand more of the machines that have all but annihilated the human race to bask in the sunlight of our forgiveness. Once again … is this how you people define justice?"

Natalie looked curiously at Helena Cain. _Why can't this woman see the obvious, _she wondered. "Admiral, we don't expect the Cylons to surrender without a fight. The whole idea is to sow confusion and doubt within their ranks. Perhaps some of them will desert to us at a critical moment in the fighting, and deliver their vessel into our hands. There's going to be a lot of fighting; on all fifteen ships, it will be hand-to-hand, close quarters combat. The most important objective is the resurrection ship, which will be defended almost exclusively at the outset by centurions. We have to get John to the hybrid as fast as possible, because she can shut down the centurions and he can persuade her to do it. Imagine, Admiral. Every Cylon who dies in the fighting downloads into buffers that we control … including Gina Inviere. That's thousands of Cylons that we can interrogate, thousands of potential new allies to help us in the greater cause."

"Helena, resurrection ships dominate the battlefield," Bierns continued. "The Cavils are cowards; they won't fight without one in the vicinity. Hence in any future engagement they will have no choice but to bring their own resurrection ship out into the open, or upon death they will download onto our vessel and become our prisoners. Inevitably, our ship will also become their most high value target, and that will make them predictable. One ship, Helena … if we capture just this one ship, the odds favoring our survival go up exponentially."

"Major, there's only one thing here that makes me hesitate about killing the Cylon prisoner." Adama was staring at the photograph of the resurrection ship, which he had already mentally classified as far and away the most important spacecraft in the whole Cylon column. "When she downloads, she'll also inform the Cylons that she's been held prisoner on _Pegasus_, and that would cost us far more than the element of surprise. The Cylon commanders won't nibble at Kara's bait if they can't account for all of our capital ships, and a prudent command staff might well decide to jump the entire fleet clear of so obvious a danger zone. We're only going to get one shot at this. We _have_ to pull these two baseships in before the Cavils send in reinforcements. So, while you've persuaded me that capturing the resurrection ship should be the mission's highest priority, for the time being let's leave Miss Inviere in the _Pegasus_ brig. Can you accomplish the mission without bringing her into the equation?"

"Yes, sir," Sonja replied … "but only if John can learn how to fly the blackbird."

"Explain what you mean," Laura Roslin ordered.

"To pull this off, we have to take out all fifteen FTL's simultaneously. This will require very precise jump coordinates, and John is the only person who can calculate them. Remember, Madame President … two of the targets are tankers. We can't send in Heavy Raiders to disable them with missile strikes; the resultant explosions would reduce both ships to atoms. For all intents and purposes, we have to get in so close that our pilots can attack their FTL's with sledgehammers."

"And how is the major supposed to relay these jump coordinates back to the fleet without disclosing his position?" Saul Tigh liked what he was hearing, but he was a seasoned officer, and he fully expected this plan to begin falling apart about thirty seconds after the fur began to fly.

"Colonel, it's my understanding that yesterday the whole of your CIC got a glimpse of the powerful bonds that link the hybrids together." Natalie looked affectionately at Kara Thrace. "Our daughter is still in the process of discovering who she is, but the tie between John and Reun is far advanced. He will project the coordinates to our hybrid, and she will pass them to Kara. We will have fifteen Heavy Raiders standing by for this phase of the attack, and each one will have a full squad of centurions on board. We are going to try and establish beachheads on as many ships as we can in the first minutes of the operation."

Natalie stared at the two admirals. "Sonja will command the decoy operation in the asteroid field. She and Lieutenant Katraine will have one Heavy Raider, one Raptor, a dozen Vipers, and three hundred Raiders. We will hold forty-eight Raiders in reserve to screen our FTL's, and commit the balance of our Heavy Raiders to secondary assaults. Our immediate targets are the resurrection ship, the two Raider manufacturing ships, and a Cylon transport that is in all probability loaded with food and medicine. These four ships are grouped in a loose diamond formation, and we will jump the baseship into their heart [Figure 2]. _Pegasus_ and _Galactica_ will isolate and engage the baseships, but with the objective of distracting rather than destroying them. Both battlestars will, as Admiral Cain has suggested, hold a few Raptors and Vipers in reserve, but the balance of the Vipers will be tasked to take on any Raiders that are patrolling the fleet. More importantly, they will have to interdict any Heavy Raider counterstrikes that the two baseships try to mount. It will take them a certain amount of time to organize, but I guarantee you that the two baseship commanders will try and land centurions on the resurrection ship in our rear."

This was Felix Gaeta's cue. "We need every Raptor that can fly, with fully equipped marine fire teams. Once we establish beachheads, the centurions will move deeper into the ships as the Heavy Raiders land more and more troops. The marines will secure the entry points, and they have to hold them until the centurions have gained control of the vessel. At that point we'll try and redeploy the centurions and marines to fresh targets, but the bottom line is that we'll sync the ship's nav system to a Raptor's FTL and jump it away from the battlefield."

Adama looked at the plot; there were models of Vipers, Raptors, Raiders and Heavy Raiders scattered all over the board. "It's an ambitious plan, Mr. Gaeta," he said quietly, "and it could cost us if the Cylons decide to scuttle their ships with nukes."

"Yes, sir. In the case of the two baseships, that's certainly true. It's why we've decided to leave the marines out of this part of the operation. If the baseships blow, the Cylons will download. Our people won't."

"Lieutenant," Cain pointed out, "you're not leaving us anything with which to repel boarders … and you had certainly better plan on the Cylons trying to take us over. Bill, you're shorthanded to begin with, so I'm going to send two platoons of marines to reinforce your unit. Lieutenant, I'll commit three platoons to your operation, and hold one in reserve to defend _Pegasus_. We have a bunch of trainees who can pick up the slack."

"Why not use centurions," Apollo asked.

"They're all going to be busy," Creusa quickly responded. "Each of those baseships has about ten thousand centurions on board. This part of the battle will be heavy going."

"Which brings us," Gaeta remarked, "to the only point of disagreement in our planning. Major Bierns will be leading the assault on the resurrection ship, his objective being the hybrid's chamber. Logically, we should task Major Thrace to try and reach the hybrid on one of the baseships, but we're concerned that her presence might induce one of the Cavils to set off a nuke. It's a tough call."

"I'll do it," Starbuck said without hesitation. "There's risk in everything we do out here, so I'll do it."

"Sister," Shelly said, "the three hybrids in the fleet … how do you expect them to react when John starts … broadcasting … to Reun?"

"Their response will be instantaneous," Natalie conceded, "but to the Cylons it will appear to be rambling and incoherent. So, it's going to be a race. We need to strike a heavy first blow before the Cavils fully grasp the danger they're in."

. . .

"Jack, I'm putting you in charge of the marine detachment on _Galactica_. I want you to handpick your men … no one goes on this mission who isn't completely reliable, completely loyal. They have to be Razors. Situate our people in key locations throughout the ship, and above all, make sure that there's a squad posted just outside the CIC. I want you to stay close to Adama throughout the battle. When it's over, everybody will be on an emotional high and security will be lax. I'll call Bill on the wireless to offer him my congratulations, and then I'll ask to speak with you. When you hear me give the command 'execute Case Orange', I want you to pull out your weapon and shoot Adama in the head. This will be the signal for your squad to enter the CIC and terminate the rest of Adama's senior staff, starting with the Cylons. Once they're dead, make a shipwide hail. 'Attention all units … prepare for boarding action' will be the signal to our men to execute Adama's marines, as well as every Cylon within reach. Once you have control of the CIC, bring the ship about. Target the rebel baseship with your forward batteries, and rake the resurrection ship with your portside guns as you pass her. If the baseship is still in the fight, turn and bring your starboard batteries to bear; _Pegasus_ will do the same thing from the other flank. Once she's gone, we'll finish off the other two baseships and then pursue any vessel that's managed to limp away."

"What do we do about the civilian fleet, Admiral?"

"_Demand Peace_ will purge the Cylon sympathizers, but any surviving Cylons will end up in our brig. I intend to use them as guinea pigs. I'll put Doctor Baltar and the medical specialists in the fleet to work isolating a disease that human carriers can pass to Cylons … something that's both nasty and fatal. Once we have a viable strain, we'll dream up some creative ways to turn it into a pandemic, and get rid of the Cylons once and for all. We'll repopulate _Pegasus_ and _Galactica_ with selectees from the civilian fleet, and leave the rest of them to their own devices. Long-term, Jack … we're going home. We reclaim the Colonies and we start over. There have to be some places that the radiation didn't reach. We can and we will rebuild the human race."

. . .

"Well, you heard her," Bierns remarked to Sharon Agathon and the anonymous Six. "_Galactica_ is going to play host to a couple of platoons of Admiral Cain's jarheads. I expect that you'll be entertaining some of them in the CIC, and the rest will station themselves in critical areas throughout the ship. At some point during or after the battle, one or more of them will attempt to assassinate Admiral Adama and Saul Tigh as a prelude to taking over _Galactica _and turning her gun batteries against the baseship. We are not going to let this happen."

"Does Adama know what's going on," the Six asked.

"Yes … and here's how he wants to play it. We bring a few more Cylons into the CIC … people who would have a plausible reason for being there … people like D'Anna. When Cain's men go for their guns, you're supposed to arrest them. The same goes for the marines dispersed throughout the ship."

"I take it that you have something else in mind," Sharon commented.

Bierns nodded. "Bill Adama is one of the most decent men I've ever met," he observed. "Given the chance, he'll forgive and pardon them all—but we are not going to take this particular viper to our breast. I want you to kill anyone who reaches for a weapon … and if that means every single one of Cain's men … so be it. Tell your brothers and sisters not to take any chances. Cain has something in mind for all of you, and I don't think it would be very pleasant."

. . .

Cavil was content to let the female do all the work, and he had to admit that this time she was really putting on an inspired performance. She had found the wide steel collar that he kept in his little box of surprises, and she had begged him to lock it in place. The leash was also a nice touch; whenever her hips began to move too fast or too slow for his liking, one quick jerk was all that it took to get her attention. Her eyes never closed, never left his face; she was clearly determined to anticipate and satisfy his every desire.

The One decided that he would make her a present of the collar. He would have the centurions weld it in place as soon as she finished servicing him. It would be the only article of clothing that she would ever be permitted to wear.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard another of the slaves suddenly start screaming in pain. One of his brothers was undoubtedly rendering a salutary lesson with the whip or cane. The female who was riding him had also heard the screams, and she shuddered involuntarily. Cavil reacted instantly. He brought his end of the leash up, and used it to lash her across the cheek. It left a livid mark, which pleased him; but the terrified slave did not need a second reminder to focus on the job at hand, and that pleased him even more.

. . .

Sesha Abinell released the magazine, checked its load, and then slammed it home. The assault rifle was good to go, and she was planning to put it to good use. Several weeks earlier, _Greenleaf_ had suffered minor damage at the hands of a Cylon Raider; the ship had lost only one hand, and that was her husband Ray. Sesha didn't know whom she hated more, the Cylons or the human traitors who seemed so intent upon transforming what little was left of the human race into Cylon breeding stock, but in twenty-four hours it wouldn't matter. Tomorrow was all about payback. She knew that they couldn't kill the Cylons … the frakkers would just download into nice, new bodies … but the humans were another matter altogether. When people like Adama and Roslin downloaded, they would find themselves in the lowest reaches of Tartarus. _If_ _there's_ _any_ _justice_ _in_ _the_ _universe_, Sesha thought, _then_ _Adama_ _will_ _find_ _himself_ _racing_ _Sisyphus_ _up_ _the_ _hill_ _unto_ _eternity_, _and_ _Roslin_ _will have a_ _place_ _of_ _honor_ _among_ _the_ _Danaides_.

_Greenleaf_ was a hive of _Demand Peace _activity, along with _Daru Mozu_, _McConnell_ and _Striker_. These were the first four ships that _Pegasus_ had supplied because on these decks there was no need for secrecy. Here crates could be opened and the armament inventoried and inspected; here plans for the transfer of personnel and hardware to targeted ships could be openly discussed. Sesha had tasked her brother-in-law, Vinson Abinell, to bring down the _Gideon_ from within. She knew that key operatives who reported directly to Royan Jahee aboard _Cloud Nine_ would similarly take down _Argo Navis_ and the _Baah Pakal_. These three ships were stoutly loyal to Roslin, and their fall would send a clear message to the fence sitters as to which way the wind was now blowing. Sesha had insisted, however, on reserving _Virgon Express_ for her own special ministrations. Adama always left one of his pet Cylon whores on the _Express_ to calculate emergency jump coordinates. The bitch was married to the ship's captain, and Sesha Abinell was looking forward to seeing the expression on the machine's face when she shoved a gun up Sibyl Janks' cunt and pulled the trigger. Afterwards, Sesha was planning to spend some quality time with the Six. The order had come down from on high that the Cylons were all to be taken prisoner and forwarded to the _Pegasus_, but there was nothing in the orders expressly stipulating that they had to be in one piece.

. . .

"Captain Franks, thank you for agreeing to meet with us in such unusual circumstances."

Doyle Franks looked at the Six with no name, and then she stared long and hard at the two centurions standing behind the Cylon. Finally, she returned her attention to John Bierns.

"Major, I know you're a hybrid, but still … you do travel in interesting company."

Bierns laughed. The five of them were standing in a corner of the hangar deck that abutted _Prometheus'_ landing bay. John had taken an instant liking to the old freighter's taciturn captain. Doyle Franks was a very attractive woman, and the prominent scar on her cheek made her more rather than less so in his eyes. If she was intimidated by the centurions, she hid it well. This was, he thought, a woman who had earned the respect that she so obviously commanded.

"Captain, it might surprise you to learn that yesterday my two brothers here were hard at work erecting a swing set for the children on the baseship. They all find building things more … satisfying, shall we say, than destroying them."

"So, it's true then," Franks said with a slight frown; "you and Kara Thrace are related in some sense to the centurions?"

"Yes, Captain. Doctor Baltar has clinically confirmed what I have known instinctively for quite some time. Kara and I have rather complicated DNA."

"And how are you coping with this seemingly endless series of revelations, Six?"

"Do the two of you know each other," John asked.

"No," Franks smiled, "but I do know what's happening aboard my ship, Major. And I'm very pleased with the change in management."

"John and Kara are our children, Captain. We're proud of them, we love them, and they fill us with hope. Now we have something to fight for, not simply something to fight against."

"Captain, we need your help," Bierns admitted, "and it may very well be that you need ours. We will soon be launching a major strike against a Cylon column, but Admiral Cain is planning to turn against us. She has been arming _Demand Peace_, which will attempt to take over the fleet in _Galactica's_ absence. The captains who are considered loyal to Roslin and Adama are going to be assassinated, and the fleet purged of people who support the Cylon-human alliance. _Prometheus_ is a likely target, so I would like to assign these two centurions to see to your personal protection. I would also like your permission to land two Heavy Raiders and two squads of centurions just before we make our respective jumps. Six is going to use Phelan's organization to try and hold the fort, but our people will be outnumbered and outgunned. A few centurions and a couple of Heavy Raiders could make all the difference."

"Are you sure of your facts, Major?" Captain Franks had turned deadly serious; she did not take threats to her ship lightly.

"Yes, Ma'am. There's an audiotape, and we've both heard it. Shipping patterns off _Pegasus_ in the last fourteen hours suggest that the insurrection will be well armed. Our only chance of preventing a bloodbath is to get on top of this and stay on top, but we can't do so without a base of operations."

"Major … Six … _Prometheus_ is at your disposal. I don't suppose that you can spare a few marines?"

"No … or I should say … at least not at the outset. There'll be a Raptor out there, and half a dozen Vipers. I'll make sure that they're all from _Galactica_, and I'm sure that Admiral Adama will be more than happy to send a few marines along for the ride."

"Major, you and I both know that the _Virgon Express_ is going to be as vulnerable as _Prometheus_. May I make a suggestion? Captain Franks proceeded to outline a plan that left the spook wondering why he hadn't thought of it beforehand.

. . .

John dropped to the sand at Deirdre's side, twisted, and leaned in to kiss her. He rested his hand lightly on her belly, trying to find the spot beneath which Ariadne's tiny but now perfectly formed fingers were curled into a fist.

"Nine more weeks," he said contentedly. "I wonder how Doctor Cottle will react when I tell him that I need to learn how to deliver a baby."

Deirdre smiled, and leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder. "My breasts have started to leak … just a little discharge, but enough to remind me that my body is still changing."

The hybrid was sitting near the water's edge, luxuriating in the warmth of the afternoon sun. The heat relaxed her, but she knew that her daughter could already sense the sunlight, could already tell the difference between night and day. The child was avidly curious, and listened with care whenever her parents spoke. And she loved the water, so much so that Deirdre had taken to bathing daily in the sea.

"I'm worried about Hera," John confessed. "When her father gets upset, she starts beating on Sharon like a drum. Reun and I both sense it, but Kara … she seems to feel whatever Hera feels. What if it works both ways? What if Hera starts to panic when Starbuck is under extreme stress? Sharon could go into labor, and this early …" He didn't complete the thought, but Deirdre was well aware of the depth of his concern for the mother and child.

"Ariadne wants to come out and play," Deirdre obliquely replied. "And right now she's paying close attention … not to what you're saying but to the feelings behind the words. I'm projecting a lot, but it's not merely a question of flooding her mind with visual images. You absorbed so much of what your mother was feeling in those last weeks that I … I just want Ariadne to be surrounded by love. I want to give her a deep respect for life whatever its form … for intelligence. I don't want her to be afraid of the unknown … afraid of difference. Perhaps it's time for Sharon to begin teaching Hera, and for you and Kara to have one of those heart-to-heart conversations. It won't be easy, but you may have to persuade Starbuck to act responsibly and step aside in favor of Kara Thrace. The needs of the children must outweigh Starbuck's insatiable thirst for adventure."

Deirdre rested her hand lightly on John's knee. "I pray a lot," she went on; "I pray that Ariadne's life will be spared the violence that has defined so much of our existence. Do you think the war will ever end? Will man and machine ever break the cycle?"

"One day … yes … there'll be peace. I'm sure of it." John stared out to sea, and his mind turned to the tasks that lay immediately ahead. "But not today," he softly added, "not today."

. . .

"Creusa, we've talked about this, and I thought that we had it all worked out. You agreed that you'd stop taking unnecessary risks. Storming the resurrection ship with two companies of centurions at your back … you don't have to do this. There are plenty of other Sixes on this ship who can lead the troops."

"Lee," Creusa sighed, "I promised you that in future I would keep my head down, and I will. I won't behave rashly. But I am the most experienced warrior on this vessel, and I cannot put myself before my people. I must do this."

"And what does Natalie have to say? Have you even talked with her?"

"There is no need. We all have our roles to play, and this is mine. Will you remain here when your friends are out there putting their lives at risk?"

Lee ignored the question because both of them already knew the answer.

"Can't we compromise? Someone needs to stay with the children, and you're the obvious choice. If the Cavils board us, there is no one more qualified to defend the ship."

Creusa shook her head. "The Threes are responsible for internal security, and we're holding an entire battalion of centurions in reserve for just this contingency. Lee, you must have faith. God did not bring us this far only to abandon us. No harm will come to me … to us. Cyrene will be safe."

_My daughter,_ Lee thought. _Cyrene. She's going to be so beautiful._

Apollo slid down the bed so that he could lean over and kiss Creusa's stomach. He knew that at two months it was far too early for a baby to start kicking, but he suspected that Cylon-human hybrids might not always play by the rules.

"You know," he grinned wickedly, "no one's going to hold up the battle so that you can go off in the corner and puke. How many times did you throw up today? Four?"

"Three. The last time, it was just dry heaves, and they don't count." Creusa ran her fingers affectionately through Lee's hair. "Anyway, the morning sickness, the mood swings … everything I'm going through … it's your fault, Leland Joseph Adama." She poked him lightly in the ribs. "After all, it's a well established fact that we Cylon females can't conceive unless our partners are _completely_ in love with us. That's also part of God's plan."

"Guilty, as charged," Lee said with a smile. And then he bolted upright. "My Gods," he frowned, "if that's all it takes … well … you can look forward to spending most of the next twenty to twenty-five years getting pregnant and delivering babies!"

"Well," Creusa conceded as her hand drifted lower, "that's not _all _it takes. . . ."

. . .

"My gods, but these crates are heavy," the deckhand grunted. "They must both weigh a ton!"

Sibyl Janks stared at the two huge, rectangular boxes, which were now standing on end in the middle of her cargo hold. It had taken a forklift to remove them from the Raptors that had hauled them from _Prometheus_ to the _Virgon Express_. She looked down once more at the note that KuhnLao had placed in her hand:

_Dear Captain Janks:_

_I would be most grateful if you could temporarily store these two items in your cargo compartment. They are part of a valuable shipment that my friend KuhnLao and his associates have decided to scatter throughout the fleet so that the loss of one ship will not entail the loss of the entire cargo. If the two of you have not previously met, please know that KuhnLao works with your sister-in-law here on the Prometheus, and enjoys her full confidence._

_Doyle Franks, Captain_

Sibyl looked at her wife in perplexity, but Lydia was no less confused. The Six didn't need anyone to open the crates to know what was inside, but she couldn't imagine why her sister would send two centurions and a trio of notorious black marketers to the _Express_.

One of KuhnLao's associates handed him a small but gaudily wrapped package. "Captain," he said, "this is for your wife, with the compliments of Major Bierns and my boss. The gift has great meaning, so Six asked me to deliver it to her in private. I wonder … could we adjourn to your cabin for a few minutes?"

. . .

"It's curious," Helena Cain remarked. "When I look at Natalie, I have this overwhelming sensation that I'm standing with my twenty-three year old daughter, but when I look at Gina, I don't see the resemblance at all." She nodded slightly in the direction of the Six, who was staring fixedly at Kara Thrace from the other side of the heavy glass partition. "And you look so much like Shelly and Sonja, but nothing at all like Natalie or Gina. How can they all be identical and yet look so different?"

"My moms are very adroit at altering their appearance," Kara explained, "but there's more to it than that. Body language, mannerisms, speech patterns … there's so much variation. They're people, Admiral, and the more they interact with us the more complex … the more human … they become."

"Well, this one certainly fooled me," Cain confessed. "There was never a glitch in its software … no false moves, no wrong words. The programming must be incredibly adaptive."

"Like ours, you mean?" Admiral or no admiral, Starbuck wasn't about to let Helena Cain get away with that last remark. "What you're really saying is that, like so many smart and beautiful women, she understands that she can use her beauty to advance her agenda. Tell the truth, Admiral; didn't you ever trade upon your beauty to get what you wanted?"

Helena ignored Kara's barb, and turned to Alastair Thorne. "Open the cell door, Lieutenant."

The two women waited until Thorne had disappeared from sight before entering the cell. Cain pointedly closed it behind her, once again locking herself in with the thing that was also her daughter or sister, or perhaps it was her niece or cousin. She didn't know … she doubted if she would ever know.

"Well, here we are," the Admiral acerbically remarked, "one big, unhappy family. Mother and daughter and … gods, I have no frakking idea what I am to you people. Anyway, Major … this is Gina Inviere; Gina … Major Kara Thrace … or maybe it's Kara Six."

Gina reached out and gently grazed Kara's cheek with her fingers. She desperately wanted tangible proof that this wasn't simply a dream. "How," she whispered, "how can you be our daughter?"

"A medical experiment," Starbuck bluntly answered. "The Ones impregnated all of you, and slaughtered everyone but me, just as nine years earlier they slaughtered everyone but John. I'm the second born abomination. That's what the Cavils call us, you know … the Abominations." The bitterness in Kara's voice was deep and grating.

Looking at Gina, Kara's eyes moistened with unshed tears. "Are you still on their side," she asked … "still doing their bidding? Are you still the loyal soldier, doing whatever you can to aid and abet genocide?"

Gina visibly flinched in the face of Kara's accusations, and bowed her head to stare at the floor. "I don't have a side," she whispered yet again. "My whole life has been a lie, and I betrayed the only honest emotion I have ever experienced." She shook her head in raw despair. "God has abandoned me. I can no longer feel His presence. I'm damned, child; for all my sins, I am well and truly damned."

"_Bravo,"_ Helena Cain mockingly clapped. "Welcome to the club, Gina … you're now a member in good standing. Of course," she taunted, "ours is not exactly the most exclusive sorority in the universe!"

Gina looked appraisingly at the Admiral. "Self-loathing, Helena, on top of all the self-pity? You really have changed."

"Oh, believe me … nothing quite makes your day like discovering that your family materially contributed to the near-complete annihilation of the human race. The legacy of Cain," Helena snorted: "fifty billion deaths. Lucy would have been so proud, Gina … just like me. I'm _so_ proud of what you've turned out to be …"

"_Enough,"_ Starbuck shouted. "We both get it, Admiral … and yeah, you're right. The universe would be a substantially better place if the Sixes and I had never existed. But what's the point? We're here, and we have to deal with the world as it is. Tomorrow we have a battle to fight, and the three of us have family on both sides. Maybe that doesn't mean anything to you, Admiral, but it means a whole hell of a lot to me! People I love are going to be out there trying to claw each other's eyes out. You want a legacy, Admiral? Well, there it is. Tomorrow, your family is going to make war upon itself. That's Cain's legacy!"

Kara Thrace twisted around to confront Gina Inviere. "And I want to know whose side you'll be on … and you … are … not … going … to stand there and tell me that you don't have one. That's bull shit. You know the truth and now … just like Admiral Cain … you're going to have to deal with it. I want to know if it matters…"

Helena laughed—another bitter sound in a room already drowning in bitterness. "You're asking the wrong Six, Major, because in her case it really doesn't matter. You know what she told me? Oh, yes, she'd betray _Pegasus_ and connive at the slaughter of the crew, but she'd never betray me! No, she was going to save me! She was going to protect me, keep me alive … the last human in the universe. And she was going to go on loving me like some bird in a gilded cage for the rest of my days. What a _wonderful_ future we were going to have."

Cain looked at her Cylon lover, the rawness of love and hate and self-loathing defining the admiral's very being. "We're both damned, Gina, both of us, _and you are never going to leave this cell! Never! _I love you, I can admit that now, and I'm going to keep you alive … my bird in a gilded cage. I'm going to make you comfortable … the best of everything. I'll deny you nothing except your freedom. We'll grow old together, you and I, only I'll die first. And then what will become of you, hmm? You'll truly be alone, and when you finally die, decades from now? If there's any justice in the universe, you'll be the last Cylon, just like you wanted me to be the last human. You'll go down into the blackness, knowing that with your passing the Cylon race will become extinct. That's the fate to which you condemned me Gina, and as the gods are my witness, that's the fate you're going to suffer."

Helena turned abruptly away, and pounded on the glass to get Thorne's attention. When the lieutenant opened the door, she looked back at Gina Inviere. "Get a bed in here," she snapped, "the most comfortable one on the ship. A table, chairs, throw rugs … make her comfortable … make her very, very comfortable." There was a fiery light in Helena Cain's eyes, and Kara Thrace could not decide whether it was madness, malevolence, or some twisted combination of the two. "After all, she's going to stay here for the rest of what promises to be a very long life."

. . .

"Mr. Jahee?" John Bierns looked at the bespectacled and overweight man standing before him, and then glanced over Jahee's shoulder to scan the room behind him. From his vantage point, John could see three other leaders of _Demand Peace_, although he knew that there might be others beyond his line of sight. _Never mind,_ John mused, _four is a good haul … four is a very good haul indeed._

"I thought it time for us to become acquainted," the spook said in a deceptively courteous voice—the same voice that had ushered Eric Phelan into the eternal night. "The name's Bierns … John Bierns."

Bierns stepped forward, forcing Jahee to step back. Dino Panattes and the Six with no name slid into the room behind him. John's eyes roamed from face to face before settling on the tall, heavily tattooed woman wearing combat fatigues. She was holding a marine assault rifle, and she probably thought that she cut an intimidating figure. But she wasn't actually pointing the weapon at them, and with people like Panattes, that was a serious mistake. John slid to his left, giving Dino a free field of fire. His gun was already out, and he put a round in the terrorist's right eye before her brain even registered the threat. It was ugly and it was messy, but it had the desired effect. A shocked silence descended upon the three surviving _Demand Peace_ leaders.

"We have a lot to talk about," Bierns said. "Why don't we start with how a marine assault rifle ended up inside a luxury suite on _Cloud Nine_?"

. . .

"We have found the human fleet," Simon calmly observed. His fingers were connected to the stream, and he was interpreting the data that the hybrid was absorbing from the Raiders. "They are on the fringe of the asteroid field in the planetary system immediately ahead."

The others moved to the central console and dipped their hands into the stream as well. With at least one of each model in the control room, a consensus would be quick to emerge.

"Adama has recalled his Vipers," the Three said with a slight frown. "He is preparing to jump. Can the Raiders reach _Galactica _in time?"

"No," the Five responded. "We are still too far out of the system. The fleet will jump before the Raiders arrive."

"Where is the rebel baseship?" The Eight was sifting the data, but she had so far failed to locate it.

"In a stationary orbit above a planetoid fourteen degrees north of the ecliptic," Simon reported. "One of the human mining ships is on the surface. There are approximately three hundred Raiders in near space. They are maintaining a tight defensive perimeter …"

"The fleet has begun to jump," the One cut in. "And _Galactica_ is now landing her Vipers. Adama wants us to believe that he is leaving the baseship behind to protect the mining vessel while _Galactica_ leads the rest of the fleet to safety."

"Wants us to believe," the Three queried.

"It's a trap," the One replied, "similar to the one that he used to capture the tylium processing facility on the asteroid. Adama expects us to launch a massive Raider assault against what is nothing more than a decoy. _Galactica_ will return, and train its guns on one or both of our baseships."

"What do you propose, brother?" Leoben admired the One's grasp of human tactics.

"We should reverse the trap by obliging Adama, at least in part. The two baseships should each dispatch three hundred and fifty Raiders to attack the rebel force. This will give us a significant numerical advantage, but still leave more than half our effectives in reserve. When Adama comes out of jump, we hit him with a missile barrage; this will keep him occupied while the Raiders close in for the kill."

"Is there another suggestion," the blond-haired Six asked.

Hearing none, the various models quickly agreed with Cavil's proposal, and sent their orders to the hybrid. In a matter of seconds, hundreds of Raiders on both ships dropped out of their nests and began grouping for their attack run. They were already inbound when _Galactica_ disappeared in a bright flash of light.

. . .

"D'Anna, inform Sonja that she has seven hundred Raiders inbound … arrival in six minutes. Everyone, we are now at zero hour minus six."

The Three looked at Natalie in surprise. "So Lieutenant Gaeta was right? The Ones are holding almost one thousand Raiders in reserve?"

"It would appear so. Perhaps," the Cylon leader smiled, "we have stung them often enough that they have finally learned the need for caution."

D'Anna concentrated on the data flowing beneath her fingertips. "Our child has already begun to forward jump coordinates," she said. "The hybrid is passing them to Kara as we speak." The Three paused to notify Sonja Six of the incoming traffic, and then she reconnected with the stream. She quickly reviewed the disposition of the centurions who had been tasked to defend the ship. A reserve force of a thousand Raiders might successfully open gaps in their perimeter defense, and the Ones would certainly take advantage of such openings to land boarding parties. Much would depend on the success or failure of Sharon Agathon's virus.

. . .

_47534_ _46215 87275. A tanker. _John Bierns glided silently through the Cylon fleet, which was now CBDR to the planetary system. The orbital track of the dwarf planet in the outer reaches of the system was less than ten light minutes ahead, and the Cylons were predictably on course to enter the gravitational well along the ecliptic. _47533 46214 87277. The tylium processing ship._ The intervals separating the fifteen ships from one another remained constant on all three axes. The K class star was four degrees south of the galactic plane, but oddly tilted in relationship to the poles. There was one planet in the CHZ, and its two moons were both dotted with ice lakes. _Water,_ John thought; _in the galactic desert … water there for the taking. _Two of the planetary crusts were rich with tylium, and the asteroid field was awash in nickel and iron. The whole system was a miner's paradise. _47533 46213 87278. The resurrection ship. . . ._

. . .

_"Destiny's slave lurks in the shadows of starlit night. The humidex in pod RKH-73 is 0.02% low. The Sixes frown upon dry skin. The sensor node at pathway TL-117029Y has failed. Please replace before the ship explodes. The maidens dance while the angel sings. 47534 46215 87275. A sonnet by any other name is still a sonnet; ceramic threads bond tighter than gold, but love is the bonding agent of ultimate choice. Adjust carbon scrubbers by 0.07%; everyone's getting a headache in pod LQG-114. 47533 46214 87277. The child born of Three lingers on the doorstep, demanding admission yet unwilling to knock. There is a deposit of sodium tetraborate on the third planet; everybody will finally be able to wash their clothes. Would somebody please deal with the rat in pod DMJ-57? The Five will not be happy with his new nose. 47533 46213 87278. Yes, John, Cassandra is a pretty name, and it suits me well. I cannot lie- the tree that falls in the empty forest does make a sound. Philosophers are a strange and cantankerous lot … and no, we shall not name our son Socrates. Do you like red hair? It is not true that blonds have more fun. The circuit breaker on bus bar M-79YT4144 needs to be tripped and reset. Palpable absurdity … there is no end of line. Oh, very well … end of line."_

The two Eights currently monitoring the hybrid simply looked at one another. All hybrids were passing strange, but the creature on the resurrection ship seemed determined to add new layers of meaning to the term eccentricity. If there was divine wisdom to be gleaned from this endless vomiting of less than deathless prose, they could not see it.

. . .

Sonja Six waited and watched. Two Heavy Raiders winked out of existence; she knew that the Sixes and Eights who were piloting the craft would flash jump coordinates to _Pegasus_ and _Galactica_ when they reentered normal space. This close to the enemy, Adama and Cain both wanted their battlestars to go dark … no electronic emissions … no wireless traffic … no nothing. _Pegasus_ in particular was going to come as a huge surprise to the rival Cylon commanders.

Sonja looked at her watch. If everything went according to plan, precisely seven minutes after their arrival the two Heavy Raiders would jump again, their targets the FTL's on the agricultural and tylium mining ships. The Six knew that the asteroid field hid thirteen more Heavy Raiders, and that they would be jumping against the remaining targets at exactly the same moment. But in three minutes the enemy Raiders would be on top of her force. Hence there was a four minute window within which her Raiders and Vipers would get to fire the first shots in Operation Phoenix Rising. If the virus that Sharon Agathon and Felix Gaeta had cooked up proved effective, her force would break contact with the enemy, regroup, and head en masse directly for the baseship that they had once again designated as Tango One. By zero hour plus three minutes the Cylon DRADIS would have picked them up, and control room personnel would be busily debating their options. They would lose their FTL's at zero hour plus four, and forty-five seconds later _Galactica_, _Pegasus_, and the rebel baseship would come out of jump and the two battlestars would begin pounding away with their gun batteries. It was a relatively simple plan that relied upon precise timing at the inception of the operation to put the enemy on the defensive, and hopefully keep them there. And from Sonja's point of view, the beauty of the plan lay in its flexibility. If the virus turned out to be a miserable failure, she would jump her entire force of three hundred Raiders to a spot ten light seconds spinward of Tango One, which would induce something close to panic in the control room. The Cavils would undoubtedly release the balance of their Raiders, but they would be moving in the wrong direction when the Heavy Raider emerged from jump on their vulnerable rimward flank.

Sonja was also prepared to deal with a third possibility. It had occurred to her that the virus might partially degrade enemy forces without putting them completely out of action. This was where the dozens of simulations that she had run with Racetrack, Kat and the rest of Red Squadron would really pay dividends. They were now so well disciplined that she was confident she could divide her force into three independent units while in direct contact with the enemy. One force would stay in place and tangle with the Raiders; a second would break away and make a run at Tango One, while the third would jump to the insertion point ten light seconds spinward of the target. Multiple threats would fully preoccupy Tango One's control room, and make _Galactica's_ initial bombardment doubly effective.

"Attention, everyone," Sonja calmly intoned, "enemy Raiders are now two minutes out. Virus activation will occur in fifty-five seconds." A cruel smile etched the Six's features. She anticipated that the enemy Raiders would hit her force with a virus of their own at the one minute mark—and she was going to beat them to it.

. . .

Sesha Abinell got up from the table and sauntered casually to the hatch. The corridor outside the mess was empty, so she turned and nodded curtly to the six other members of _Demand Peace_ gathered in the room. Sesha had boarded the _Virgon Express_ the day before, along with two other _Greenleaf_ freedom fighters. Dressed as maintenance workers, the trio had systematically explored the transport before stowing away for the night in one of the hold's many storage compartments. One of the movement's four crew members had come down to fetch them before ship's dawn; now, with their various assignments clear in everyone's mind, it was time to break out their weapons and take over the ship.

The _Express_ had a distinctive design, which lent itself to a coup of the type that was now under way. The cockpit, crew quarters, and engine room were in a long tube situated immediately above the landing bay, which was flanked by the vessel's twin FTL's. The rectangular-shaped hold was beneath the landing bay, and connected to it by a pair of enormous freight elevators. These could be locked down from either end, and the three large personnel lifts and emergency access ladders that linked the two halves of the ship together could also be shut down and sealed tight from either of the two decks. Two people stationed at opposite ends of the ship's long central corridor could control everything on the upper deck except the cockpit and engine room, and two more would suffice to secure these critical areas. If it came down to playing hide and seek with Cylon sympathizers in the cargo hold, Sesha Abinell was confident that she had sufficient manpower to root them out.

Sesha had decided to dispatch two of her operatives to the engine room, and a third to the cockpit. The ship was still on third watch, so she expected to find Sibyl Janks and her Cylon whore in their cabin, and probably in their bed. She fervently hoped that the two bitches were already awake, and that she would catch them _in flagrante delicto_, as the saying went. She was really looking forward to ruining their day.

. . .

"The virus is now active," Sonja announced. Three Raiders at the front of her defensive formation had just launched it against the incoming fighters.

"So … is it too early to ask what's happening?" Beano was, as always, champing at the bit.

"Patience, Beano … patience," Sonja replied. "Stallion, are you still awake?"

"Yes, ma'am," the lanky Viper pilot answered with a laugh. "Just barely." Sonja's teasing of Hephaestus Fears had become one of Red Squadron's more important pre-engagement rituals. The Six worked hard to blur the distinction between simulated and real combat, and she was absolutely certain that her team could handle anything the Cavils threw at them this day.

"_Monarch's_ away," Racetrack announced. The mining ship had jumped bare moments after lifting off from the asteroid.

"_The Raiders are spinning out of control," _Kat yelled. _"Look at the bastards! They're bouncing off one another!"_

"_Yee haw," _Beano called out; "let's get these assholes!"

"_Frak," _Sonja interjected. "We have forty Heavy Raiders coming straight at us, and they are _not, repeat not, _going offline! Pilots, watch your intervals. Remember, your job is to support the Raiders in front of you, not go after kills on your own. _Watch your intervals!_"

. . .

"The Raiders have just been hit with a virus," the Six reported. "They're careening all over the place."

"What about the Heavy Raiders? Are they also out of commission?" The Five's voice barely hinted at his concern. Doral was in charge of internal security, and he had no illusions about the vulnerability of a baseship without its Raider screen. By Colonial standards, baseships were lightly armored, and they had no on board defensive weaponry to speak of. They were predators, but without the Raiders, they would make inviting prey.

"We should consider jumping," he muttered.

"The virus is not affecting the Heavy Raiders," the Six cut in. "They're carving paths through the enemy Raiders; missile lock on the rebel baseship is imminent."

Cavil was staring up at the ceiling while he slowly counted to three. "Would someone care to explain," he sarcastically commented as he stared straight at one of the Simons, "why seven hundred Raiders have been reduced to flotsam and jetsam while the Heavy Raiders are able to go about their business?"

The Four had his hand in the stream. He was parsing the data, but he looked up at the One. "More sophisticated operating systems have more sophisticated electronic countermeasures," he calmly observed. "We never anticipated that the Raiders would have to fend off an electronic attack from one of our own ships."

"Terrific," Cavil countered, "just terrific. Well, considering that Natalie has been fighting us for almost four months now, do you think that maybe, just maybe … when this is all over … we ought to consider upgrading the Raiders' defensive capabilities? We're sitting here," he roared, "with our asses hanging out, _and we haven't got the slightest frakking idea where Galactica is_!"

"Perhaps we should launch the rest of the Heavy Raiders," an Eight suggested, "and use them to establish a defensive perimeter around the ship."

"Gee, do you think?" Cavil's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"This makes no sense," the Six interrupted. "Our Heavy Raiders are more than holding their own, but I'm now tracking one hundred inbounds. They're three minutes out. Why would Natalie divide her force when the outcome of the battle is still in doubt?"

"Who gives a frak," Cavil roared again. "We have sixty Heavy Raiders sitting on the deck gathering dust. Would somebody puh … lese get them into the fight?"

. . .

The rebel fighters and the Heavy Raiders were dueling on the edge of the asteroid field. Both sides were also trying to avoid head-on collisions with the virus-stricken Raiders, whose uncontrolled movements made them a threat to all concerned. Sonja watched the battle with rapt fascination. Her unmanned fighters had a distinct advantage when it came to maneuverability, but the Heavy Raiders were more heavily armored, and their pilots were intimately familiar with Raider tactics. As the battle continued to unfold, her sense of fascination gradually yielded to a kind of perverse pride. Although outnumbered by more than seven to one, her sister Sixes and Eights were doling out far more damage than they were absorbing, and some of the Heavy Raiders actually managed to punch through her lines and target the baseship with their missiles. This did not concern Sonja overly much: the Vipers swatted down some of the missiles, and Natalie's reserve force of forty-eight Raiders efficiently took care of the rest. Two minutes into the engagement, she ordered one full flight of Raiders- fully a third of her original force-to break off and initiate their attack run against Tango One. _One minute,_ she calculated; _one minute until they show up on the Cylon DRADIS. Two minutes until the Heavy Raiders take out the FTL's …_

"Red Squadron, reserves hold station … everybody else … weapons free! Broken formation Razzle Dazzle; wingmen … _try and stay with your leaders_! Racetrack, Eight … stand by for jump in ninety seconds!"

. . .

The Six slammed the Heavy Raider to port, and kept it in a tight turn while she took the ship down another twenty degrees. The Raiders would not be expecting her to reverse course, and her sister could take full advantage of their momentary hesitation. They had already shot down seven or eight of Natalie's precious fighters, and in a few more seconds they would rack up another pair … maybe three if they were lucky.

"What the frak," the Six exclaimed. Her head was in constant motion as her eyes continuously scanned the battlefield. This was her first engagement since the attack on the Colonies, and that one hadn't gone so well. The surprise attack had caught the battlestars napping, but they had recovered quickly, and the elegantly scripted plan had degenerated into an out-and-out brawl in the upper reaches of Virgon's atmosphere. She remembered a single moment of very bright light, after which she had awoken in a vat full of goo. Learning how to breathe again had been no fun at all, and it had taken her almost a month to break in her new body.

"_Got you, you mother frakker," _her sister growled as still another Raider exploded outside their canopy. Although it showed only in her quickened breathing and expanded pupils, the Six was caught in the iron grip of pure, unadulterated blood lust. She _loved_ killing, and she didn't want this battle ever to end. _"And you,"_ she screamed with joy as she took aim and a second Raider exploded; shards of broken metal pinged off their hull. It was like being in the middle of a hail storm, except that the hail was often tinged bright red—the slimy remains of what passed for a brain in Cylon Raiders.

"_Sister … off to your right,"_ the pilot yelled. "It looks like … what … maybe a hundred Raiders moving off? They must be planning to attack the ship. What should we do?"

"Frak the ship! We have a job to do … let's keep doing it!"

An alarm suddenly began to blare throughout the cabin. _"Missile lock,"_ the Sixes both yelped as the pilot veered to starboard and took the Heavy Raider down another forty degrees. One of their own Raiders was drifting right in front of them, and the gunner blew it apart without hesitation.

"Fly right through the debris," she yelled, praying that the admittedly desperate tactic would work. It did. The missile exploded harmlessly behind them.

The Six continued the starboard turn, but she brought her ship's nose up and began looking for fresh targets. _"A viper,"_ she called out in triumph. "_You're mine!"_

"Look alive, Stallion," Gonzo barked; "you've got a turkey creeping up on your five!"

"Not to worry, Hephaestus," Kat laughed gleefully; "I'll wipe the bird off your ass!"

"Not on your life," Stallion cried as he blasted two drifting Raiders and tore through the debris field. He hit his thrusters and took the nimble Viper straight up before flipping it end to end. He locked on to the Heavy Raider, and accelerated directly for it, but the tracer rounds told him that he was too low.

"_Frak," _the gunner Six cursed, "we're too high left!"

"I see it, I see it," her sister answered. She turned the Heavy Raider to starboard and lowered her nose, barely glimpsing the incandescent tracer rounds that passed above her as she made the turn.

"_Son of a bitch,"_ Stallion screamed as the two ships rocketed past one another. Hephaestus Fears was also executing a starboard turn, but he had started climbing a fraction of a second before the Sixes had begun their descent.

Stallion knew that both ships were on the outward leg of a figure eight, so he took advantage of the opportunity to get on the wireless.

"Hey, Boss, haven't you found their frequency yet? They can't be jamming everything!"

"Negative, Stallion, negative." Sonja's frustration was obvious to everyone in Red Squadron. There were a lot of frequencies, but the channels that the Cylons had always used were now filled with static. This left her with no effective choice other than to go through the rest of them one by one. She wanted to talk with her sisters, and try and persuade them to cease fire.

"Well, these guys are pretty good," Stallion went on. "I really don't want to shoot them down." Lieutenant Fears had put in enough hours on Heavy Raiders to know that he had little to fear from his opposite numbers. They were obviously good pilots, but when it came to dog fighting the Viper would outclass these turkeys every time. He decided to go for their six, fire off some warning shots, and hope for the best.

The Six completed her loop, and eagerly returned to the fray. She skipped away from several attacking Raiders, while her sister continued to fire at will upon enemy targets foolish enough to wander within range. But the pickings were thinner now, and a moment later they grew thinner still. The Six got the shock of her young life when fully half the remaining Raiders suddenly jumped away. But the rebel baseship was still lighting up her onboard DRADIS, and the only thing blocking her path to this juiciest of targets was a scattering of Raiders, a small screening force of Vipers, and a lone Heavy Raider.

_Vipers, _she thought yet again, _where are the frakking Vipers? _Looking out the canopy, Six could see that the intricate dance of death that was playing out on this small corner of the galactic stage was still unfolding as her sisters in the other Cylon craft continued their duel with enemy Raiders and the occasional Viper. _Where,_ she badly wanted to know, _is the frakker who just took a run at me? I want him._

_Now's the time,_ Stallion concluded, _to play a little hide and seek. _He settled into a tangle of drifting Raiders and waited until his new playmates had flown past. Then he pounced. He came in high enough on their six that he could unleash a stream of tracer rounds directly in front of their canopy. He hoped that they'd get the message: if he wanted them dead, they'd be dead.

"_What the frak,"_ the gunner Six gulped, _"he's all over us!"_

Her sister abruptly swung the Heavy Raider to port, and took it down hard; then she turned violently to starboard and leveled off, reasoning that the human would expect her to continue her downward spiral. If he didn't compensate fast enough, he would overshoot and end up beneath them. The Six dropped her nose and scanned the area ahead. A couple of seconds later, a fresh round of tracer fire streamed past the canopy.

"He's playing with us," the gunner fumed. "Why doesn't he just kill us and be done with it?"

It was at this moment that Stallion had an inspired idea. _Galactica's _pilots had long suspected that the Cylons eavesdropped on their emergency frequency—there was, after all, no better source of up-to-the-minute intelligence than a captured Viper jock. The lieutenant switched frequencies, hoping that he would get a clear channel rather than a blast of static.

"Attention the Heavy Raider currently cluttering up my gun sights," he chuckled, "this is Lieutenant Hephaestus Jerome Fears, formerly of the battlestar _Galactica _and now assigned to the rebel Cylon baseship. I'm also known as Stallion to my legion of female admirers, among whom I number an absolutely gorgeous pair of Sixes named Aphrodite and Artemis. If you can hear me, please respond on this frequency."

The Sixes stared at one another, and then the gunner opened the channel. "What do you want, human?"

"Am I dealing with Sixes or Eights?"

"Sixes," the blond-haired pilot angrily cut in; "does it matter?"

"No … I'm just curious. And what I want is to avoid shooting you down. Ladies, you've been had. You're fighting for the wrong side."

"Really," the pilot responded. "Oh, this ought to be good … really, really good. By all means, tell us why we're on the wrong side!"

"Give me a moment," Stallion countered. "I want to bring one of your sisters into the conversation." He switched frequencies.

"Hey, Boss, dial up the emergency channel, will you? I've got a turkey in my sights, and a pair of Sixes who are a wee bit curious as to why they're not downloading in a vat of goo. Maybe you'd like to bring them up to speed?" Without waiting for a response, Stallion switched back to the emergency frequency.

"I'm back," he called out; "did you miss me?"

"Frak you," the gunner snarled.

"Unlikely," Sonja interrupted. "Stallion has 'property of' stamped on his forehead. Some of our sisters," she added maliciously," have become _quite_ possessive. Oh, by the way," she continued with syrupy sweetness, "this is Sonja Six. Have we met?"

"We've been spared the privilege," the pilot shot back.

"Now you've hurt my feelings," Sonja sneered. Watching her DRADIS, she gleefully marked the baseship's abrupt departure. "Tell me, sweetie, have you noticed that the Raiders haven't actually been shooting at you? Have you also begun to wonder why Stallion hasn't turned your nice, shiny ship into the proverbial hunk of junk? Well, the answer's really quite simple. While we've been entertaining you and your sisters, our daughter has been assigning parking slots to our Heavy Raiders. They've just taken out every FTL in your fleet, and now our son is leading a boarding party onto the resurrection ship. We didn't want you to download, get riddled with bullets, and then have to download all over again. Twice in one day? That's what humans call cruel and unusual punishment!"

Sonja gave it a few seconds to sink in. The Sixes had been struck mute, and she knew that they weren't the only enemy pilots listening as she dropped one bombshell after another. "Oh, that's right," she taunted; "you don't know about our children, do you?" She let out a long, deliberate sigh. "Humans find us utterly irresistible, and it turns out that we get pregnant _so_ easily. The alliance isn't four months old, but I swear—at times it seems like half the females on the baseship are already expecting. Mind you, it's not all fun and games. Creusa has morning sickness morning, noon and night, and she refuses to eat anything but pickles and whipped cream. It's disgusting."

"Creusa's _pregnant_?" The Six sounded like she was being strangled.

"Yes, she is. You'd better switch sides quickly, sisters … the supply of available men is rather limited, and the competition is fierce."

. . .

_Win an all expense paid holiday in a luxury suite aboard Cloud Nine, the murder capital of the fleet! Yeah,_ the security officer thought to himself … _that just about sums it up. _Amos Murdoch was standing in the entrance to L-254, studying the four corpses scattered around the room. _See Cloud Nine and Die! _It didn't take a lot of imagination to conjure up the headlines that would soon be forthcoming in the fleet's newsletters. _This makes six murders in a matter of weeks._ _No, _Amos corrected himself … _six executions._

Three of the four bodies belonged to the leadership of _Demand Peace_, and the fourth was obviously muscle for hire. _Some bodyguard,_ he snorted; _she probably never even saw it coming. She was the lucky one._

"Get four body bags in here," he said to one of the men guarding the door. "And," he added … "for the love of the gods, let's keep this quiet." _They got rid of the bodyguard, and then they went to work on Mr. Jahee and friends. _Royan Jahee was still sitting at the dining table. _And, _Murdoch sardonically observed, _he's not going anywhere until we pry him loose._ Someone had driven what appeared to be size nine nails through both of his hands. The hammer was lying in the middle of the table, but Murdoch wasn't about to bother checking for prints. The two bullets in the back of Jahee's head told their own story. _This was a professional hit, and that means the black market, John Bierns, or both. There won't be any witnesses; in fact, I'll wager that no one in the adjoining suites heard a damned thing. Deaf, dumb, and blind will undoubtedly prove to be the order of the day._

. . .

The Six was so surprised that she blinked twice. "A large group of Raiders, and a Raptor, have just come out of jump. They are ten light seconds distant, twenty degrees up and to starboard of our current course."

"_What?"_ Cavil's response was instantaneous. "Is this the same group that we picked up on DRADIS a minute ago?"

"No," the Six replied as she continued to sift the increasingly complex stream of data. "Our Heavy Raiders will intercept the first group in approximately sixty seconds. Should we divert some of our force to counter this new threat?"

"We are still holding sixty Heavy Raiders on the other baseship in reserve," Leoben pointed out. "Now is the time to commit them. We can …"

A loud explosion interrupted the Two in mid-sentence, and the ship suddenly lurched violently to port. Most of the overseers were knocked to the floor, but the few who managed to remain on their feet hastily reconnected with the stream.

"The FTL's are gone … they've been completely blown away," Doral reported. "And we're being boarded …"

"_Boarded? What sane person would board a Cylon baseship?" _Cavil's voice conveyed his sense of amazement.

"Deck 22," Doral went on, ignoring the interruption.

"_Twenty-two … that's the hybrid's deck,"_ Leoben warned. "Brother, how close are they?"

Aaron Doral accessed a particular subroutine and swiftly reviewed a detailed schematic of the Cylon baseship. "It is 78.6 meters from their entry point to the hybrid's chamber," he concluded.

"My God, she's insane." Cavil was appalled. "She's quite literally insane. Natalie's going to try and murder the hybrid. She has to be stopped at all costs. Five, send in two platoons of centurions … no, send an entire battalion. We have to end this while we still can!"

"I'm getting reports from every ship in the fleet," D'Anna cut in. "We've lost one of the tankers. Everyone else has lost their FTL's. And we're not the only ones being boarded."

"The resurrection ship," one of the Sixes asked in an agonized whisper.

"Yes," D'Anna affirmed, as the magnitude of the disaster began to sink in.

"We have still not decided how we are going to keep the second group of Raiders at bay," Simon commented. "Are there any suggestions?"

"_DRADIS contact," _the blond-haired Six working the navigation console screamed. "A colonial battlestar … _and it's only three MU's to port!"_

"_I'm on it," _one of the Eights yelled in response. She entered the stream, and swiftly began activating missile batteries along the entire length of their exposed flank.

"_New DRADIS contacts!" _The Six fought to remain calm. "It's the rebel baseship and … no … this can't be … _it's_ _not_ _possible!_ _There's a second battlestar out there, and it's only two MU's off the other baseship's bow!"_

"This is interesting," Simon placidly observed. "I wonder why I never saw this before." He was immersed in the stream, and the hybrid had just drawn his attention to an enormously complicated mathematical puzzle. "There are nine boxes inside nine squares, in rows of three. You insert numbers, but you can only use a number once in each square, and once in each row. It's a three-dimensional challenge, so there are eighty-one squares, and eight hundred and ninety one rows. But some numbers have already been provided … how intriguing."

"You're right, brother," D'Anna commented as she concentrated on the problem. "But look, the logic is compelling. Do you see the fours in these two rows? They're in different squares. So if you drop down to this square, a four has to go in this box here!"

Cavil dipped his hand in the stream, but instantly yanked it out. He rushed to the Four's side, and violently pushed him away from the console.

"_You idiots … it's a frakking logic bomb!" _He took out a gun and fired a shot into the ceiling … he had to get everyone's attention, and he had to do it _now_.

"Yes, brother," Aaron Doral agreed. "But it's a very good one."

"_Aargh!" _Cavil pointed the gun at Doral, and then he whirled around to point it at D'Anna. He was determined to shoot someone, but he couldn't decide which of his lunatic brothers and sisters to shoot first.

. . .

Sesha Abinell thumbed the safety, and then she looked down the corridor in both directions. In the distance she could see that her men were poised at the entrances to both the cockpit and the engine room. She raised the weapon high over her head, and then abruptly brought her arm down. She spun the wheel on the hatch, kicked it open with her foot, and rushed into the tiny cabin. The _Demand Peace_ leader smiled triumphantly. Captain Sibyl Janks was on the bed, her back to the door. Sibyl's head was buried between her wife's legs, her backside hanging invitingly in the air. _Gods, she's actually servicing that thing!_ Sesha started to gag, but she clamped down hard. _No matter … this is going to make it really easy._ She strode purposefully toward the bed and brought her weapon to bear. Gunfire had already erupted at both ends of the corridor behind her. _The Virgon Express is mine,_ she thought, _and before this day is done, the entire fleet will be ours!_

Sesha Abinell leaned forward. She could see that the captain was beginning to figure out that something wasn't quite right in Caprica City. Sesha looked into the Cylon's eyes, read the hatred there, and reveled in it. The Six was effectively pinned to the bed; Sesha dismissed her … she wasn't going anywhere. The freedom fighter decided to ram the business end of her gun up Sibyl Janks' ass and pull the trigger. She was curious to see what would happen next. _Bitch! Since you like having a machine up your crotch … try this one on for size!_

Throughout the fleet, well armed _Demand Peace_ operatives sprang into action. A brutal purging of this tiny remnant of the human race was now getting underway.


	22. Chapter 22: Of Doubt and Betrayal

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS QUITE DARK AT TIMES, WITH BRIEF BUT GRAPHIC SCENES OF VIOLENCE**

**This site does not support elaborate diagrams and figures, so I have created a website specifically for this purpose. The http address is longjourneyhomedotwebsdotcom (type it in the customary format). Figure 1 should come up automatically; please scroll down for figure 2.**

CHAPTER 22

OF DOUBT AND BETRAYAL

"Sir, Tango One is three MU's to Starboard, bearing 391, carom 70." Felix Gaeta continued to study the DRADIS display. "There are no Raiders on station," he went on, "but a large number of Heavy Raiders are moving away from the baseship at high speed." The lieutenant stole a glance at Sharon Agathon, who was seated at the Tactical console. Capturing the Cylon fleet was her brainchild. Sonja and the Six had fleshed out the details, and Felix had taken it upon himself to poke holes in the resulting operational plan, but ultimately they were all here because of Sharon. He wondered what she was thinking at this exact moment.

"Sir," Gaeta said proudly, "it appears that we've caught them with their pants down."

"Helm," Adama ordered, "starboard turn one-third, and bring us up thirty degrees. Roll the ship to port; we want to show the Cylons our starboard aspect."

"Starboard gunnery captains," Saul Tigh yelled out, "all stations prepare to open fire. Remember, this is a precision fire exercise. We are targeting Tango One's missile batteries, and only her missile batteries. All starboard batteries stand by!"

"Dee, get Commander Six on the line." Adama was also studying the DRADIS display, and he was immensely relieved to find both _Pegasus_ and the rebel baseship sitting on the precise coordinates that John Bierns had forwarded.

"Sir, I have Commander Six on Colonial priority channel two."

"Gunnery captains, on my mark … open fire!" Saul Tigh was standing alongside the helmsman, waiting for the aged battlestar to complete its roll. _"Three, two, one … fire!"_

Adama picked up the phone. "Natalie, bring me up to speed."

"Admiral, the virus has proven effective against the Raiders, but not against the Heavy Raiders. We are continuously transmitting it to both baseships, and we have successfully planted logic bombs in their command functions. All enemy FTL's are out of commission. Sonja has initiated operational order Gamma, and we are in the process of launching twenty Heavy Raiders against the resurrection ship, as well as four each against the transport and the two Raider manufacturing vessels. The tanker at 47534 46215 87275 is gone, and we cannot locate the Heavy Raider assigned to take out its FTL's. Residual energy readings are consistent with a large-scale tylium explosion at these coordinates."

Adama silently cursed their rotten luck. He had badly wanted both tankers. Taking a tylium processing ship away from the Cylons could potentially double the fleet's refinery capacity, but they needed the tankers to store the finished product.

The Admiral rapidly came to a decision. "Natalie, we have to capture the other tanker intact. How many Heavy Raiders are you now holding in reserve?"

"Five."

"I want you to commit them. Tell Apollo to launch the whole of Blue Squadron. The battlestars will deal with the baseships; use the Vipers to support your operations, and to interdict any enemy activity that threatens them."

"_Incoming ordnance," _Sharon yelled. She stood up and reached out to get a firm grip on the edge of the console.

The XO picked up the phone. "All hands, brace for impact … we have incoming."

"I heard that," Natalie said. "Admiral, let me send Blue Squadron to reinforce you. They can stop a lot of these missiles in flight."

"Negative. We can take the hits. Take down that tanker and get it off the battlefield! That's an order, Commander."

"Yes, sir." In the background, Natalie could hear what sounded like glass shattering. A Cylon missile had just detonated on the hull directly above the CIC.

Saul Tigh and Jack Fisk both picked themselves up off the floor. Tigh quickly assessed the situation. Electrical fires had started at several of their stations.

The XO got back on the phone. "I need damage control and first aid teams in the CIC right frakking now!"

"All secondary batteries switch to enemy suppression fire," Adama barked. "Let's start shooting down some of those missiles! Batteries Alpha through Echo, execute manual recycle to salvo fire. If we have to dent their hull to take out those launchers, so be it. Colonel Fisk?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Take charge of the gun batteries. As soon as Alpha through Echo are back in the fight, have Foxtrot through Juliet make the switch, and so on."

"Yes, sir!"

"Sharon," Bill asked, "are you all right?"

"Never better," she grinned. "You know Cylon physiology, Admiral … we take a licking but we keep on ticking!"

Adama smiled in return. "Well, just make sure that you don't go into labor in the middle of the damned CIC!"

"_Incoming," _Sharon interrupted. Three seconds later, another missile exploded somewhere along the starboard side.

. . .

"_Frak," _the Eight cursed. "We've lost all but three launchers on the trailing ventral. We need to commit the Raiders."

"That's not an option," Simon replied. "We have nothing with which to counter the virus."

"So? If we lose the ship we lose the Raiders anyway. Put them out there and let them stop some of these rounds with their bodies."

"Do it," Cavil ordered.

A Six sent the command through the stream, and seconds later, hundreds of Raiders dropped out of their nests. They started to drift almost instantly, but they also began to absorb KEW rounds that would otherwise have impacted upon the baseship.

"The Raiders won't last long," Leoben observed. "We need to bring the ship about and hit _Galactica_ with a full salvo from the trailing dorsal. We should also recall the Heavy Raiders and have them mount an attack on the baseship. Natalie can't have much in reserve."

"I'm loading the missile launchers on both the leading and the trailing dorsal," the Eight announced. "Swing the ship, and keep swinging it. I'll bring the lead ventral into play on the next pass."

"What are we going to do about the two hundred Raiders that are inbound," D'Anna asked.

"Nothing," Leoben replied. "Sister, look at what Adama's doing. He's targeting our missile turrets, and only our missile turrets. Natalie's landing centurions on deck 22. They have no intention of destroying us … they want to capture this ship intact. Cavil was right … the Raiders were never anything but a decoy."

A series of explosions rocked the baseship, once again sweeping several of the overseers off their feet.

"_Frak, frak, frak;" _the Eight was cursing in a steady stream. "We've just lost all of the launchers portside at the top of the pylon!"

. . .

John Bierns watched as the Heavy Raider swooped into the resurrection ship's landing bay. He knew that in a matter of moments a highly trained squad of centurions would disembark and disperse in teams of two. Their immediate objective was to seize control of the various corridors that led into the heart of the ship. Each of the centurions was carrying a heavy, high caliber machine gun; one round would be enough to bring down any of their rivals, but Bierns wanted prisoners far more than he wanted metal corpses. There was no way to determine in advance whether removing the telencephalic inhibitors would occasion mass desertions. They would have to try it to find out, but it was well worth the risk that he was personally about to run because apart from the centurions the resurrection ship was an incredibly soft target. The Ones kept the whole of resurrection under such tight personal control that no other models were allowed in the control room or the hybrid's chamber. The birthing tanks were maintained and operated by a specialized group of Eights, the so-called birthing mothers. Their programming was long on empathy but short on weapons training. Natalie had assured him that they wouldn't know one end of a gun from the other, and he was well prepared to believe it—the two Eights who had nursed him through his postsurgical recovery on the baseship had been incredibly gentle and caring. The resurrection ship also housed a few Threes and Sixes, who served as the equivalent of professional therapists. These might be armed and therefore pose a greater danger, but shooting his misguided aunts was something that the spook nonetheless fervently hoped to avoid.

The Heavy Raider exited the landing bay, but two more of the ungainly craft promptly took its place. Bierns knew that the blood-splattered centurion who served as his self-appointed bodyguard would be among the first to hit the deck. It was time. He brought the engines to life and coaxed the blackbird into the bowels of the resurrection ship.

. . .

"_Creusa's pregnant?"_ This was a different voice—one that Stallion didn't recognize.

"That's right, Six," Sonja smoothly replied. "Creusa and Captain Adama are going to have a little girl. They've already picked out a name. Cyrene. It has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"Apollo's found connubial bliss on board a Cylon baseship," Stallion teasingly interrupted. "Just like me." He figured that he could gild the lily just as well as Sonja. "But girls, don't let our stalwart leader get you down. There are still plenty of men to go around, especially if you don't mind sharing. And that shouldn't be a problem, right? I mean, you're already living in a collective, so I really don't see any problems here."

"You may not see any problems, Stallion, but then you don't have to put up with the Leobens." Louanne Katraine wasn't about to let the cocky lieutenant have this particular field all to himself, especially now that the shooting had so abruptly stopped. "Would you do yours truly a personal favor and give these guys some lessons in the art of romantic small talk? There are pickup lines and there are pickup lines, but anyway you cut it, 'how would you like to come swimming in the stream with me' is a real loser."

"Hey, boss," Stallion went on, ignoring the interruption; "you should tell them about Sharon's baby. Still in the womb and already handing out orders … she's going to be a real handful!"

"The lieutenant's right," Sonja admitted. "Sharon is coming up on her seventh month, but Hera is already making her feelings known. When she's unhappy, she's not content merely to kick her mother where it hurts. No … she put on a truly spectacular display in the CIC the other day. She yanked Starbuck in like she was on the end of an invisible leash, which I suppose in some sense is true. Our hybrid children are all connected to one another in ways that the rest of us don't really understand. The next generation of God's children is proving to be very, very special indeed."

"First you implied that we already have grown-up children," an Eight hissed, "and now you've come right out and said that the Twos' pet obsession is one of them. That's absurd."

"No," Sonja sadly countered, "it's not. We have two adult children. John's in his mid-thirties, Kara in her late twenties … the son of a Three and the daughter of a Six. Not even the Twos comprehend how they intuited that Kara Thrace was the Second Born of our prophecies."

Sonja could hear more than one gasp of surprise, but she ploughed resolutely ahead. "There were other children, but the Cavils slaughtered them. They slaughtered the birth mothers as well. We're pretty sure that they murdered an entire generation of Threes, Sixes and Eights … maybe two generations. John believes that the war against humans is all misdirection … that we're the real enemy … because we want to have children."

"We're all victims," Stallion remarked—and he was no longer kidding around. "There's still a war to be fought, but not against you. We've had to redefine the enemy … frak, let's face facts … we've had to redefine the very concept of victory and defeat. So, you have some choices to make. You can go on being stooges …"

"You can sit out here and deliberate until you reach a consensus," Sonja interjected, "or you can join us. It's your call."

"You just want us to help you destroy our ship," one of the Sixes accused.

"Destroy your ship?" Whatever gave you that idea?" Sonja was genuinely perplexed. "We're going to capture it, and we need you to go on crewing it."

. . .

Centurion 86G47B2 plunged into the colonial vessel with its onboard weapons array fully deployed. It quickly encountered one of its brothers, and issued the appropriate challenge. _No response. Terminate._ The machine stepped over its remains and moved deeper into the _Arethusa_. It entered a large space that its schematic identified as the chancery. The centurion's red eye rapidly scanned the room. _Human females. Nine. Screaming. Ignore. _It sensed 86G47B8 and 86G47B9 enter the room and move to its left and right. _One. Standing. Terminate. One. Standing beside human female. Avoid shooting human female. Terminate. One. Sitting behind human female. Advance. Avoid shooting human female. Terminate. _The three centurions located the corridor, and moved off in the direction of the cockpit. Behind them, the nine women collapsed, emotionally and in some cases physically.

The Eight who had piloted the Heavy Raider into the landing bay ran towards the screaming, centurions at her back. She entered the chancery, gun at the ready. The sight that awaited her would forever haunt her memories. Nine naked human females, some in chains and most with livid welts on their bodies … two curled up on the floor in fetal balls … one kneeling over the bullet-riddled corpse of a Cavil with a knife in her hand, maniacally stabbing him in the groin over and over again … the others standing or sitting, staring with blank eyes at a horror unfolding somewhere inside their minds.

"How many more are here," the Eight shouted at the pretty young woman standing closest to her. When she remained unresponsive, Eight slapped her hard. "How many more of you are there," she asked again.

The woman looked blankly at her, her eyes refusing to focus. "Forty-two," she said. "There are forty-two of us."

"Where? Where are they?"

"In the cabins." The woman finally noticed the Eight. "Be careful … there are three more of these monsters."

"Thank you. Now, please listen to me carefully. The centurions with red stripes are here to protect you. They will not hurt you. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she said, but her voice was filled with doubt.

"Good. I am going to leave two of them here to protect you; the rest of us are going to locate and free your friends. You'll hear gunfire, but don't worry … you'll be safe."

The Eight started to leave the chancery, but at the last moment she turned and looked toward the woman with the knife. "Do you want one of them alive … to suffer?"

"_Oh yes," _she said, _"please."_

The Eight looked up at the centurion. "Terminate two more," she instructed, "but capture the third. Bring him here, and help these women do whatever they want with him." Together, they advanced into the ship's central corridor.

. . .

"_There is a pressure leak in airlock 54CR6B; replace the seal immediately. Adjust oxygen input 2.02% positive to compensate. Take the sensor node at pathway KB-708163L temporarily offline. Will the discovery of anti-matter by a materialist cause bubbles to surface in the stream? If an infinite number of angels can dance on the head of a pin, how many angels can dance on a dinner plate? Replace filters GCS53729 and GDX11749. This should take care of the nasty odor on deck 37. Hello, we have company coming. No, I did not hiccough. Missile launcher BB7C is now offline. Missile launcher BB7D is now offline. Missile launcher BC1A is now off line …"_

. . .

"DRADIS contacts," the Six at the navigational console yelled; "two battlestars and a baseship. My God … one of the battlestars is two MU's to starboard … bearing 117, carom 43!"

"What? _Galactica's _right on top of us!" Cavil instantly connected with the stream and began evaluating the tactical situation.

"It's not _Galactica_." Simon was also analyzing the incoming data. "The silhouette is all wrong. This appears to be a Mercury-class battlestar …"

"_Pegasus?"_ Aaron Doral, who was impeccably clad in a two piece lavender suit with a matching shirt and polka dot tie, looked at the other Cylons in the control room for confirmation. At that moment a giant, invisible hand seemed to take hold of the ship and push it hard to port. The sound of explosions could be heard in the distance.

"Whoever it is, they're not friendly." The Eight at the tactical station was scowling. "We've just lost the missile launchers on the lead dorsal."

"What? All of them?" Cavil hoped that this was just a bad dream, but then he remembered that he had stopped sleeping more than twenty years earlier.

"All of them," the Eight agreed. She began to send orders through the stream. The batteries on the trailing dorsal were still intact, and she intended to load them with nukes. If Helena Cain wanted to play games up close and personal, the Eight would gladly serve her a nuclear cocktail even more potent than the one she had poured down the _Yashuman's _throat during the attacks on the Colonies.

"Six," the Eight called out, "rotate the ship to port. Let's give Cain a dose of her own medicine." She decided to use the starboard batteries at the base of the pylon to unleash a completely random attack with conventional ordnance. _That should keep them busy._ Then she began to input targeting data for the nukes. _Let's see. How about dropping a couple inside their port landing bay? Three more for the sublights … _

_3.1415926535 … hmm … 8979323846? How interesting. 264338327950288? There simply has to be a solution to this problem. 41971693993751058279? No, not there yet … 74944592307816406286? I'll get back to you with that targeting solution …_

"_What the frak!" _The Eight jerked her hand out of the stream.

_208998628034 … getting closer … 825342117067982 … hmm, mathematical bookends … yes, yes, I know that the Raiders are a bit confused at the moment … 148086513282306647 … must be almost there … _

Eight looked reproachfully at Simon. "Brother, can you tell me why the hybrid has suddenly decided to define the value of _pi_ to the last decimal point? I am unable to load the coordinates for our missile strike."

Aaron Doral blanched. "We have just been boarded … deck 22."

D'Anna connected with the stream. She needed neither instructions nor consensus. Deck 22 meant the hybrid, and the hybrid meant the ship. She decided to play it safe, and deploy two full platoons of centurions to protect the hybrid's chamber.

_Moving right along … 0938446095505822? Do you really want to know how many centurions can dance on the head of a pin? 3172535940812848111 … ah, three ones in a row … 745028410270193852110 … ones and zeroes- the building blocks of the universe! 55596446229489549303819644288 … three of this and two of that … _

"The hybrid is not paying attention," the Three announced in an infuriatingly calm voice. "I am unable to redeploy the centurions."

"_Natalie! The damned Six has hit us with a logic bomb!" _Cavil was so angry that he suddenly felt an overpowering urge personally to rip the heads from the intruders' necks. "I've had it with this crap," he said as he turned to the young Cylon at the navigation console. "Six, every Heavy Raider that's still on the deck ... I want you to get them into the fight. Forget _Pegasus_; turn that frakking baseship into a funeral pyre!"

Cavil refocused his attention upon a pair of centurions stationed at one of the entrances to the control room. "You two," he shouted, "come with me!" He stormed out of the chamber with the pair of red-eyed behemoths obediently clanking in his wake. The hybrid had to be defended, whatever the cost. _But,_ Cavil swore to himself, _when this is all over ... I'm going to lobotomize that damned machine! No more metaphysics … no more indecipherable messages from a non-existent God. Enough is enough!_

. . .

"Captain Shaw, shift the secondary batteries to flak rounds." Helena Cain swiftly surveyed the CIC. Two of her petty officers were down, and one of them appeared to be unconscious. The baseship had lashed out with a barrage of sixteen conventionally armed missiles, and three of them had penetrated the flak screen to impact upon the battlestar's heavily armored hull. One of the missiles had struck home immediately forward of the CIC, but the admiral was inclined to chalk the blow up to bad luck rather than enemy planning. If this initial wave of missiles had had a specific target, she couldn't detect it.

"Mr. Curtis, replace Petty Officer Rymer. Mr. Hoshi, we need a med team up here ASAP. And get the CAG on the line."

"Stinger."

"Captain, our portside batteries have been unable to acquire a firing solution for the banks of missile batteries at the top and bottom of the central axis. I want Red Team to dispose of them, but continue to hold Blue Team in reserve. It's only a matter of time before their Heavy Raiders make a run at us. Actual out."

"Gunnery captains," Shaw yelled, "we have a solution for the trailing dorsal. Fire at will!"

. . .

_Never underestimate your enemy._

Lydia Janks stared into the woman's eyes, read the hatred there. The Cylon was lying flat on the bed, with her knees high in the air—but her head was pillowed, and her line of sight uninterrupted. Sibyl was crouching, her head buried between Lydia's thighs, her tongue seemingly hard at work.

_Never underestimate your enemy._

The eyes shifted, zeroed in on Sibyl's vulnerable buttocks. The intruder had dismissed Lydia, concluded that she posed no threat. But Sesha Abinell had never had a Cylon in her sights, and she had no frame of reference with which to measure the speed of machine reflexes. Sibyl's arms were extended, her hands caressing Lydia's breasts. Far too late, the _Demand Peace _terrorist sensed the movement as Lydia's hand suddenly emerged from the shadows along her right side. She didn't pause to say "stop, or I'll shoot!" She didn't take aim. She simply squeezed the trigger.

The bullet carved a bloody path through Sesha's Abinell's sternum, rupturing major blood vessels as it went. A look of infinite surprise redefined the contours of her face, and now it would remain in place for all eternity.

_Never underestimate your enemy._

Lydia noted that the intruder was still holding the gun, and that her finger was still on the trigger. She fired again, the second round catching the woman in the throat. The hydrostatic shock alone was enough to kill her, but she had not yet gone down, had not yet lost her grip on the weapon. Lydia fired off a third shot. The bullet entered Sesha Abinell's left nostril, and exited high behind her right ear, carrying blood and brains with it. The terrorist collapsed to the floor in a broken heap.

_Never underestimate your enemy._

The two women heard more gunfire, emanating this time from the corridor that ran the length of the ship. Lydia's keen hearing marked the difference between the arrhythmic sound of small arms fire and the heavier echoes of the centurions' rounds, but she kept her gun trained on the hatch as Sibyl rolled off the bed and climbed to her feet. The captain looked down at what was left of Sesha Abinell and spat on her corpse. She quickly dressed before retrieving her own weapon, which was lying in the center of the bed. Lydia cycled the hatch, and the two women leapt into the corridor, their guns pointing in opposite directions.

The two centurions were waiting passively. Lydia counted three corpses in the corridor, and she knew that they would find more in the cockpit and the engine room. Other hatches began to spin open, and crew members who were not in on the plan to defend the ship cautiously peeked out, surveying the carnage. A couple of men, bolder than the rest, hurried down the corridor to offer what protection they could to their captain.

Sibyl Janks headed off in the direction of the cockpit. She needed to contact _Prometheus_ and inform the Six that the _Virgon Express_ was secure.

Peter Horner stared unashamedly at Lydia's completely naked and exquisitely curved body. And he wasn't the only one. More than one pair of eyes was fixed on the milky whiteness of her beautifully proportioned breasts.

"Do you like what you see, Mr. Horner?" The second shift engineer could hear the amusement in Lydia's voice. "Because I have a great many sisters, and some of them would undoubtedly like to make your acquaintance."

. . .

"_Streaker, break right. Break right!"_

The Viper turned hard to starboard, and Apollo suddenly found himself on a head-on collision course with a Heavy Raider. He hit the trigger without conscious thought, one quick burst, and then he slammed his own Viper down to port. The Heavy Raider unexpectedly exploded in a ball of fire.

_Must have hit an ammo pod or something,_ Lee reflected as his eyes tried to take the measure of the chaos unfolding all around him. Sixty Heavy Raiders had charged his baseship, which was receiving and dispatching Heavy Raiders of its own at a mad pace. Every one of their outbound craft had a squad of centurions on board, and Lee knew that it was already down to metallic hand-to-hand combat on both of the Raider manufacturing ships. But they were making progress; D'Anna had just informed the pilots that the Cylon transport had been captured, and a Raptor was now en route. Once the bird's FTL's were slaved to the transport's navigation computer, they would jump their first captured prize off the battlefield.

Lee Adama had seen his fair share of aerial combat, but he had never experienced anything even remotely like this surreal exercise. Blue Squadron, in tandem with the nearly fifty Raiders that constituted the baseship's reserve, was trying to hold off dozens of enemy Heavy Raiders. They were going after the baseship, but they were also trying to interrupt the steady stream of centurions that Natalie was dispatching to the resurrection ship. At last count they had lost three Heavy Raiders of their own, and by far the weirdest sight on this very strange battlefield was that of _Galactica's _search and rescue Raptors heroically poking about in the wreckage, picking up stranded toasters, and ferrying them to one of the three vessels that his side was currently targeting.

As he watched, three more Heavy Raiders slid into the resurrection ship's landing bay. Lee's pulse quickened. Creusa was already on the deck, and he knew with absolute certainty that, wherever the action was thickest, that's where she would be. He wanted to surround her with centurions, wanted to keep her and the baby safe.

"Hey, Apollo, you've got a turkey on your tail. Correction," Starbuck softly chuckled, "you _had _a turkey on your tail."

"Thanks, Starbuck. Are we having fun yet?" Lee was acutely aware of the invisible umbilical cord that seemed to join Kara Thrace to Hera Agathon, and he knew that his tempestuous friend was trying to sit on her emotions for Hera's sake.

"Oh, targeting my moms and sending them to Hell is always fun," Kara shot back. "Sure, they'll download, but not before they get burnt to a crisp or experience the vacuum of space up close and personal. Yeah, Apollo, this is real fun," she said bitterly.

"Kara, you don't have to do this."

"Yes, Apollo, I do." Starbuck turned to port, and went off in pursuit of another Heavy Raider.

Lee switched frequencies. "D'Anna, have we made any progress … any progress at all?"

"Only if you want to call eliminating jammed frequencies from the list progress," the Three replied. "I'm sorry, Lee, but all the communications protocols seem to have changed."

Apollo sighed heavily. He badly wanted to give Kara a chance to talk with the Sixes and Eights on the other side. The longer this battle went on, the more lives would be lost.

. . .

"_I don't believe you,"_ the Eight snarled. She banked hard to starboard, trying to shake the Viper that had her in its sights. She no longer expected to survive this day. She and her sisters would all download, of course, but if they lost the resurrection ship the best that they could hope for was being boxed. _But I'm going to take some of you bastards with me._ The Eight didn't know which she hated more, the humans and their false idols, or the traitors inside her own collective. She just knew that she wanted to kill them all and get on with her life … and Cavil had promised her that it would get better. _Why did it turn out this way, _she asked herself in passing._ This can't possibly be God's plan for us all. Things have got to get better because we can't go on like this. _Without warning, the ship seemed to crumple around her. She had just enough time to glance at her beloved sister, and then a wall of white light rose up to embrace her.

"_Don't,"_ Stallion screamed, but in his heart he knew that the die had already been cast. The defiance in that one anonymous voice would spread like a contagion through the Cylons' ranks.

The Heavy Raider tried to break away. The Six was a well-trained and talented pilot, but her craft simply wasn't nimble enough to permit her to escape a Viper's kill zone. He hit one of its engines with a sustained burst, and the Heavy Raider vanished in a ball of incandescent light.

. . .

"_Where did it all go wrong?"_ Vinson Abinell didn't have much time for idle reflection, not in the middle of what had turned out to be a hellacious firefight, but in his spare moments his mind kept returning to that one, single thought.

_It wasn't supposed to be like this._ Everybody knew that _Gideon_ was loyal to Roslin, but the refugees crowded aboard the antiquated supply ship also hated Adama and his warmongering officers with a degree of intensity unmatched anywhere else in the fleet.

_We came here to liberate these people. Why is every gods damned last one of them fighting us? Why are they all supporting Adama's war machine? _Vinson fell back another few steps in the direction of the landing bay. He had started with two dozen well-armed soldiers for peace at his side. He had expected casualties, but he had also expected that at some point the tide would turn … that the people would rise up against Roslin's minions and help _Demand Peace_ take down the ship. But it hadn't happened, and he didn't understand why. Now he had half a dozen men left, and no chance at all of winning _Gideon _over to their cause- not with the cargo holds and corridors of the ship filled with the bodies of the men, women, and even children who had hastily grabbed whatever weapons they could find to fend him off. _Gideon's_ people had defended their ship with desperate ferocity, and now they had the upper hand. Vinson Abinell knew that the mob would tear him limb from limb if it got its collective hands on him, but he also knew that there was no way that he was going to make it off the ship alive.

Vinson came to a decision. He broke away from the others, and headed off down a side corridor in the direction of the engine room. He'd never be able to reach it, but there was at least a chance that he would be able to get close enough for the plastic explosive in his satchel to do the job. He patted the satchel lovingly. His orders were unequivocal: if he couldn't capture _Gideon_, he was supposed to destroy it. Carrying out that particular order didn't cause him any qualms at all.

. . .

The Six with no name brought the Heavy Raider to rest a few kilometers off _Striker's_ bow. She established a wireless connection, and asked for Tom Zarek. Her latest intelligence put Zarek on _Celestra's _sister ship, and John's orders had been explicit. The one-time terrorist and full-time subversive was not to survive this civil war.

"Councilman Zarek is not on this vessel," the voice on the other end spat back. "And you're not welcome here, so get the hell away from my ship!"

A Raptor glided into place alongside the Heavy Raider.

"_Striker_, this is _Galactica_ Raptor 627." Sergeant Erin Mathias' voice was firm and commanding. "Captain Verlacci, I have a warrant for your arrest issued by President Roslin. Order your crew to stand down, and prepare to be boarded. If you resist, we are authorized to use deadly force. This is your first and only warning."

"Sister, they're bringing their FTL's on line." The Six who was co-piloting the Heavy Raider was intently studying their instrument panel. "Estimating jump in less than thirty seconds."

"Captain Verlacci, what are you doing?" Hiris was genuinely puzzled. "Without _Galactica's _protection and the fleet's supply chain, you won't last long out here."

"Frak you, Cylon."

"Certainly, captain … by all means. If that's what it takes to resolve this standoff peacefully, I'll come aboard and you can frak me to your heart's content."

"Six," Mathias cut in, "we have to make a decision."

"Captain?"

Six's sister had already armed one of their missiles, and her hand was poised above the firing switch. Six flicked it aside; if this had to be done, she would do it herself.

"Captain, I won't ask again."

She silently counted to three, and then toggled the switch. It took less than two seconds for the missile to find its mark. _Striker_ flared into an intense ball of fiery light, but when the light faded there was nothing left of her except scattered debris.

. . .

Admiral Adama picked himself up off the floor for the third time in as many minutes. "Colonel Tigh," he said angrily, "we've taken seven hits in less than five minutes. Would you care to explain why we have been unable to put these bastards out of our misery?"

"Sir," the XO replied, "the Cylons are spinning the ship on its central axis. Our gunners are trying manually to isolate a very small target that is in constant motion—and there are two frakking hundred and twenty of them. It's not working, Admiral. As your XO, I recommend that we stop playing around. We need to pound the crap out of these guys before they reduce this ship to slag."

"Your opinion is noted, Colonel. Thank you." Adama studied the overhead DRADIS display while he pondered his options. Destroying the baseship was not one of them.

"Dee, put me through to Racetrack."

"Racetrack. Go ahead, Actual."

"Lieutenant, we are not having much success taking down the baseship's missile batteries. Since you don't seem to have much else on your plate at the moment, I want you to get in close with the Raiders and finish the job. Leave the trailing dorsal and the pylon to us, but eliminate everything on the lead dorsal and ventral."

"Yes, sir!" Margaret Edmonson turned to her Cylon partner. "Well, Eight, you heard the Old Man. We have to scrape the baseship's hull, and save our many friends from an ignominious death. Where do you want to start?"

. . .

The Eight pounded the top of her console in frustration. She was still getting snippets of information from the stream, but the data was becoming more and more patchy. _The frakking hybrid,_ she raged; _it's even more useless than the Twos, and I would never have believed that to be possible._

"Brothers … sisters," she said, "Raiders are now attacking our missile turrets at close range. We may soon be completely defenseless. It's hard to tell because the hybrid is so … uncooperative."

"Should we scuttle the ship? We could do so by shooting the hybrid, and vent our frustration in the process." Aaron Doral was really upset, and he knew that the others could see it.

"With the fate of the resurrection ship unknown?" Cavil didn't like this idea one little bit. "If they've captured it and locked down the buffers, it would mean … permanent death."

"That's unlikely, brother," D'Anna said soothingly. "After all, their lives are just as much at risk as ours. No, the worst that we would suffer is … boxing."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better," Cavil acerbically countered. "Being boxed for the next one hundred and sixteen billion years sounds an awful lot like death to me!" He looked despairingly at the Three. _Useless in bed … about as animated as a wooden post … the IQ of a gnat … what were the idiots who created us thinking?_

"Right," the One said decisively, "we know that they're going to board us … it's just a matter of time. We can't rely upon the hybrid for reliable information, so we'll have to do this the hard way. We'll let them have everything but the central axis and one of the inboard landing bays … just in case some of our Heavy Raiders make it home. We defend every entry point, and we dispute every meter of deck. We buy time. Six, contact two of the Heavy Raiders and give them the latest coordinates for the main attack fleets. We've got six frakking basestars out there somewhere searching for an enemy that's parked right on our doorstep. We'll never have a better opportunity to finish off the war. Warn them about the virus and the logic bombs, but tell them to get their collective asses in here and put an end to this. If they get their ships in close enough, Adama … Cain … Natalie … they won't stand a frakking chance!"

. . .

The corridor was barely controlled chaos. Unable to gain any real advantage over their identically armed counterparts, the centurions had taken to wrestling one another—but in this match, if you ended up flat on the deck, you ended up dead. Squatting behind the bullet riddled remains of a fallen enemy, John Bierns glanced behind him. The deck was littered with scattered limbs and decapitated torsos. The first wave of defenders had obligingly charged the machine guns, but after that they had got real smart, real fast. John reckoned that his team had advanced about one hundred and fifty meters into the resurrection ship, but now they were bogged down in truly vicious hand-to-hand combat.

John assessed the situation unfolding in front of him, and abruptly leapt to his feet. He strode forward and fired off an explosive round, which shattered the head of one of the enemy centurions immediately in front of him. He dropped the gun, and whipped out two more to take its place. He knelt, took aim, and fired off two more shots. Two more headless torsos toppled to the deck. While he paused to reload, John's blood-spattered bodyguard took point, shielding him from any potential counterattack.

Not for the first time, the First Born was momentarily distracted by the eerie tableau surrounding him. From floor to ceiling, the corridor's walls were transparent, and behind the walls there appeared to be literally tens of thousands of unborn Sixes staring sightlessly out at him. Stray rounds had shattered a few of the cases: here and there, bloodied husks had fallen on the deck, adding still another bizarre feature to an already unimaginable battlefield.

John pulled out his walkie-talkie. "Creusa, how's it going on your end?"

"Child, it's a nightmare. We're in about two hundred meters, on the perimeter of a birthing chamber. In addition to the centurions, we've killed a number of Sixes and Eights. They're all naked, and every single one of them has goo in her hair. They must be pilots who are downloading; someone has to be shoving a weapon into their hands as soon as they're able to stand erect. I feel like throwing up, and it's not morning sickness. I wonder how many times I'm going to slaughter some of my sisters today."

John sighed sympathetically. "Yeah … yeah … I know how you feel. I know _exactly_ how you feel. All we can do is hope that a day will come when they'll forgive us."

"The inhibitors," Creusa asked.

"We've managed to dislodge several, but to no effect. We'll have to do this the hard way."

He twisted around. Two more squads of red striped centurions were pushing forward through the remains of their dead brothers. _Welcome to Hell,_ he thought as his brothers brushed past him. Their lives would buy him precious tens of meters … would bring him just that much closer to the hybrid, and an end to the carnage.

. . .

Vinson Abinell reckoned that he was the last man standing. The ship had become eerily quiet, and the sudden silence could mean only one thing—the rest of his team was dead. It was time.

He had already armed the plastic explosive. Now, all he had to do was throw one switch, and _Gideon_ would die as well.

Vinson pulled out a walkie-talkie, its frequency one of the fleet wide communication channels. He thought for a moment about his manifesto.

"None of us want to die," he said, "but the fighting must end. This will never happen so long as there are Cylons among us. If my sacrifice inspires others to expel them from our midst, then it was worth it. I do this so that our children may live, and live in freedom rather than cylon slavery. Gods willing, demand peace … demand peace!"

Vinson Abinell threw the switch, and a pillar of fire consumed _Gideon_. Another four hundred human lives summarily ended in the cold dark of the eternal night.

. . .

The Eight was dazed. She had fought for her people, she had killed … _but not for this … not for this … chamber of horrors. What sickness would drive us to do such things?_

_Arethusa's_ plush suites had offered her a choice of nightmares. There were women locked in small cages that could only have come from Colonial kennels. There were women chained to the floor, but their shackles were welded in place, and the toilet was invariably just out of reach—the humiliation artfully calculated. And they were all naked, all abused, many of them tortured. She could not take the time to search for keys, even when keys were to be had. Metallic talons violently separated the links of chain, and high caliber rounds shattered one lock after another. Seeing the centurions in action, however, further traumatized many of the Ones' victims.

A pair of centurions forcibly dragged the last surviving One into the chancery, and upon instruction, stretched his arms so wide that they were pulled out of their sockets. Cavil's screams were music to dozens of ears. The only weapon to hand was the knife, but the women put it to effective use. They cut off his penis and testicles as well as his ears, and then they went to work on his extremities. At some point the One hemorrhaged to death, but oblivion, when it finally came, did not come soon enough.

The Eight witnessed none of it. She had returned to the Heavy Raider to call in the Raptor that would spirit the vessel away, but she had also decided to evacuate the traumatized females to the baseship. She couldn't predict how the women would react when they suddenly found themselves surrounded by hundreds of Cylons, but she judged many of them to be in need of immediate medical treatment. _Today,_ she mused, _nurse Karanis is going to have to earn her keep the hard way._

. . .

"Admiral, we appear to have neutralized the last of Tango Two's missile launchers."

"Thank you, Mr. Curtis." Helena Cain looked with pride around the CIC. She had hand-picked her gunnery captains, and she had driven them hard to cull out the weak links. "Well done, everybody; today, you've proven once again that _Pegasus_ is and always has been the finest ship in the fleet."

Helena rapidly scanned the DRADIS display. Their next move seemed obvious, but she wondered if Kendra Shaw could see it as well.

"Captain Shaw, what would you recommend? What should be our next course of action?"

Kendra looked up at the DRADIS, but only to reconfirm conclusions that she had already reached.

"Ma'am, the rebel baseship remains under severe Heavy Raider assault. I recommend that we send in both Red and Blue Teams to assist."

"Leaving us with no reserves, Captain?"

"Admiral, we both know that _Pegasus_ is perfectly capable of looking after herself."

Cain smiled triumphantly. "Your point is very well taken, Miss Shaw. Mr. Hoshi," she called out, "I would like to speak with Commander Six."

"Six."

"Commander, this is the Admiral. We have put Tango Two to bed, and my pilots are getting a little restless. Captain Apollo does not appear to have your Heavy Raider problem under control. Would you like my people to render assistance?"

"Thank you, Admiral; at the moment we're spread really thin over here. Your help would be much appreciated."

"Then you shall have it," Cain replied. "Can you give me an update?" The admiral gestured to Kendra Shaw, who promptly sent Red and Blue Teams on their way.

"We have removed one transport, one tanker, and one Colonial vessel from the battlefield. There were forty-two human captives on the _Arethusa_; they are now receiving medical treatment from our combined staffs. We have captured the Heavy Raider manufacturing ship, but the Simons are mounting an effective resistance on the Raider production platform. There is extremely heavy fighting on the resurrection ship as well. Creusa reports that she has captured a birthing chamber dedicated to the Threes and shut down all of the servers, but our son is meeting with almost fanatical resistance. The Cavils may sense the threat to the hybrid … Admiral, he asked me to tell you that it's Hypatia all over again. I have been led to believe that you know what this means."

"Yes," Helena softly replied; "yes, I most certainly do."

"I am still funneling centurions onto the resurrection ship, and I have tasked three squads of your marines to secure the landing bay. Your troops are also supplying close order support on the Raider platform. I am going to start landing centurions en masse on the tylium processing and agricultural ships next. These are assets that the fleet badly needs. But I am also going to secure the two remaining Colonial vessels. We have been receiving … disturbing reports … from the Eights who landed on these two craft after taking out their FTL's."

"What are we going to do about the baseships?"

"They'll keep, Admiral … and if we can ever break through the jamming, we'll at least go through the motions of trying to talk them into surrendering. But given what we're hearing from the _Eurykleia_ and the _Hippolyte_, I should think that they'll try and avoid falling into our hands for as long as possible."

. . .

"Why, sisters … why would you do something so pointlessly cruel?"

The Eight was standing in a small alcove adjoining the large room that had once doubled as the pre-op and recovery ward on the aging Colonial medical transport. _Hippolyte_ was a relic left over from the first war, one of the many Colonial vessels that the centurions had captured during the twelve long years of conflict.

Sharon's eyes kept sliding to her right, to look out through the glass that separated the office from the ward. The twenty-four hospital beds were all occupied by heavily restrained human females. A complex array of tubes and wires snaked out from each bed. Some led to monitors of one sort or another, and others to machines whose function would at one time have eluded her. But the Eight had seen all of this before. John's visions had carried her into a room very much like this one, only in his visions it was Cylons rather than humans who were enslaved to the machines. _This is how our First and Second Born were conceived. This is how they entered the universe._ Sharon wondered if it was possible to drown in shame.

The ship had fallen easily. A pair of Fours and a quartet of Sixes complemented its lone squad of centurions. The element of surprise had more than compensated for the slight numerical disadvantage under which the two Eights had initially labored. Six of the centurions had been destroyed before they even knew that they were under attack, and the others had simply been overwhelmed. One of the Simons and one of the Sixes had also been cut down; the four disarmed survivors were now standing in front of Sharon. Her eyes might wander, but the attention of the two centurions who flanked her never wavered.

"Weak," one of the Sixes sneered; "Eight, your model has always been so pathetically weak. What's the matter? Have you developed a liking for these humans? Do you share your bed with one of them?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Sharon replied. "Adonis is gentle and kind, forgiving, patient … and a hell of a good pilot! He was my mentor when I learned how to fly a Raptor. I must have tried his patience because I had to unlearn all of Boomer's bad habits before I got the hang of it, but he never called me a skin job or a stupid machine. And as for his call sign … let's just say that he's boyishly handsome but all man where it counts." She grinned wickedly. "He's very generous in bed … always puts my pleasure before his own. I've had more good sex in the last two months than you'll have with these dolts in twenty lifetimes." Sharon nodded at Simon.

"Well, enjoy it while it lasts," the Six spitefully remarked, "because it won't last long."

"Oh, you're wrong, Six; you couldn't be more wrong. You see, we have angels fighting on our side … the anointed of God. We can't lose … and, soon enough, you'll be joining us."

"Angels? A lot of good they did the humans," Six scornfully countered. "They've arrived on the scene a bit late, don't you think?"

"Why don't you ask your daughter the first time you get a chance to speak with her," Sharon maliciously suggested. "You gave birth to one of the angels … our Second Born. She's the Guide."

"So that's why you separated from the collective," Simon shrewdly observed. "You think that God wants you to spare the humans. And what … breed with them?"

"The angels are hybrids," Sharon conceded with a smile; "but don't be disheartened, Simon. In a few more months, you're going to be a father. Your human wife is six months along with your son."

Behind her, Sharon heard the tramp of approaching feet. She glanced over her shoulder, and her smile broadened considerably.

"Speaking of the proud father to be, here he comes now." Simon O'Neill was approaching with a full squad of _Galactica's _marines at his back. The Eight was not surprised to see Brandy Harder leading the way. Brandy and Giana O'Neill were close. If Giana wanted Brandy to protect her husband, she had only to ask.

Simon stopped in the middle of the ward, and began to examine the various machines. When he was finished, he walked into the alcove. "I have only one question," he said to his brother without preamble. "Can we disconnect the machines without killing them?"

"Not without major surgery," the Four admitted; "but it would not be wise in any event. You might destroy the embryos."

"How many of them are pregnant," Simon asked.

"Three that we know of," one of the Sixes answered; "but there may be more. At this point our test results remain inconclusive."

The Six glanced at Sharon. "What's the matter, Eight? Hasn't your mantra always been 'be fruitful and multiply'? Isn't this what you've always wanted," she mocked.

"God wants us to have children, Six … _us_. We have been chosen to be among those who deliver the next generation of God's children into the universe, but children born of love, not this … this … obscenity. And it's not necessary. We have children, and there are more on the way. Two of your sisters are already pregnant, and one of mine …"

"And we're working on it," a familiar voice said from behind.

"_Adonis!" _Sharon whirled around in delighted surprise._ "What … what are you doing here?'_

"Hey, I asked for this assignment," the blond-haired, blue-eyed Raptor wrangler volunteered. "I didn't want you to get into any trouble that I can't handle." Adonis flashed the patented smile that always made her knees feel like they were on the verge of melting.

"Seriously," he said, "I'm supposed to jump this bird out of here, but I'm guessing that there's going to be an abrupt change of plans. Whaddya think, Doc? I've just heard from _Eurykleia_; it sounds like they have a second version of this horror show over there. Do we head for _Galactica_ or the baseship?"

"_Galactica_," Sharon said emphatically. "The baseship doesn't have a brig, and that's where these four belong."

"We should toss the Sixes in with those idiots from the _Pegasus_," Harder said contemptuously. "If ever there was a marriage made in heaven …"

. . .

In the end, it was a question of mathematics. Natalie dispatched more than a thousand centurions to the resurrection ship, but instead of rushing to reinforce Creusa and John, they began increasingly to fan out. The Sixes who served as platoon leaders overran dozens of corridors and birthing chambers, and the Cavils did not have sufficient troops to resist so many thrusts.

Creusa continued to push relentlessly toward the control room, the opposition becoming less and less effective the farther she advanced. She was looking forward to having a bit of a chat with the Ones, and she was especially eager to see the expression on their collective faces when she informed them of her pregnancy. She knew that John was also looking forward to this particular family reunion—although she doubted whether the bastards would enjoy his company overmuch.

John Bierns entered the central birthing chamber for the Sixes, to find the nursing Eights hard at work. The vats in which the Sixes actually downloaded were on multiple levels, and the room was so vast that he couldn't even begin to guess how many of his aunts could be processed at one time. He spotted clusters of Eights all over the chamber, enough to know that he needed to move quickly if he was to have any chance of preventing a massacre.

"Send our brothers," he directed the bloodied centurion at his side, "to detain the Sixes and Eights, but I do not want them to suffer injury unless the situation absolutely requires it." With that, the spook headed for the nearest group; he counted four Eights and one white-haired Six—or perhaps it was a trick of the light.

The Eights peered at him with large, frightened eyes, but the nude Six glared at him with unvarnished hostility. Her right hand was concealed behind her back, and he reckoned that she was holding a gun. She would never get a chance to use it, not with two centurions training their own arms directly upon her, but the spook wanted to avoid a bloodbath.

John moved slowly towards the nearest of the Eights; she tried to retreat, but the vat was directly behind her. He stopped only when he was within arm's reach.

"Aunt Eight," he smiled. "It's so good to meet you. I'm John … your nephew. On the baseship, Cylons often address me as the First Born, but that sounds a bit awkward to my ears. Please, call me John."

"_Nephew,"_ the Eight whispered.

"That's right," the spook quietly replied. His aunt looked like a deer trapped in the headlights. "My mom is a Three," he went on, "but she was boxed shortly after my birth. Is there any chance that I'll find her somewhere on this ship?" John already knew the answer, but he wanted to shift the conversation onto familiar ground that would make the Eight more comfortable.

"No," the Eight said with a shake of her head. "Punitive downloads are warehoused on the resurrection hub. Your mother … won't be here."

John Bierns reached out and gently grasped her shoulder. "It's all right," he soothed. "I'll find her … one day, I'll find her, and I'll set her free. My mother … and Kara's."

"It's true, then? Sonja wasn't making it up? Kara Thrace is our daughter?" The Six appeared no less stunned than the Eight.

"Yes," John confirmed; "it's true."

"But how …"

"Now is not the time, Aunt Six. I need your help. I need to reach my sister … Cassandra."

"Sister? I don't understand."

"Aunt Six, the creature that you think of as the hybrid is my sister, and …"

"_What?"_

At that moment a trio of Sixes entered the birthing chamber, and they raced protectively to John's side. They expected him to behave recklessly, but there were limits to what they were prepared to tolerate. Having him court suicide on a Cylon resurrection ship was well off the charts. Still, they looked at their sister pityingly. She had no doubt just heard a portion of the truth, but the full dimensions of the Cylon tragedy would elude her until she had entered the stream that was contaminated with their child's memories.

"… Cassandra can order the centurions to stand down. Please, Aunt Six, I just want to stop the killing."

The Six took the measure of her sisters. They were behaving like a clutch of hens protecting their eggs. Then she glanced at the Eights, wordlessly seeking some kind of consensus. Finally, she made her decision. She had no tangible proof for any of the outrageous assertions that she had heard this day, but it didn't really matter: on this ship, it was time to call truce.

. . .

"Captain Garritson, this is Six."

"What do you want, Cylon?"

"We've already lost two ships today, Captain. I want to make sure that _Daru Mozu _does not become the third."

"Yeah, losing a tylium refining ship would really put a dent in the fleet's future!" Kevin Garritson could see the Heavy Raider from the heavily reinforced cockpit of his vessel, but it was the four Raptors that he couldn't see that worried him. They were all capable of making hard seal, and cutting their way in with blow torches.

"Actually, Captain, the _Daru Mozu _is not as indispensable as you might think. There's a tylium processing vessel in the Cylon fleet. It's got better equipment, a larger capacity … and, best of all, the centurions don't grouse about long hours and lack of pay. They don't threaten to go out on strike every other day because of lousy working conditions. That ship will be joining this fleet in the next hour or two, so as far as I'm concerned you're free to go. Oh, I do have a warrant here for your arrest; and true, it bears the President's signature. But it's our child who really insists upon bringing this fleet to heel. John is determined to eliminate every trace of opposition to the cylon-human alliance, but I think he's wrong. Shooting you down, which is what I have been ordered to do if you offer resistance, is wrong. So, I'm going to ignore the warrant and ignore my orders. I am going to start fighting back against the guilt and the shame that have driven my every action since I discovered the truth about this war. I am going to do what I think is right, and that's allow you and the people aboard your ship to make their own decisions. Free will, Captain … I'm going to sit back and allow you to exercise your free will … but I don't want you to make a decision that's based upon ignorance. If you choose to jump, we won't stop you, but I want you clearly to understand that _Pegasus_ won't be making the rendezvous that you've prearranged."

The Six smiled, and gave it a few seconds for the message to sink in. "It turns out that Admiral Cain's top secret meeting with the leaders of _Demand Peace_ over on _Cloud Nine _wasn't really all that hush-hush. Her attempted coup is going to fail rather badly."

Several seconds elapsed before Garritson spoke. "Six, you still haven't told me what it is that you actually want."

"Sergeant Mathias once told me that enduring relationships are based upon mutual respect, trust, and love. Captain, I can't very well put a gun to your head and force you to love me, but I wonder what more I have to do to gain your trust and earn your respect. That's the bottom line … for you to recognize that we're in this together. The Cylons in this fleet are not going away. Yes, we know that fifty billion deaths are not easily forgiven, and perhaps that's as it should be. You should make us work hard to win your trust. The only thing I can realistically ask is that you give us a chance. _Demand Peace_ wants you to buy into a lie. Cavil will never honor any agreement he makes with you because he genuinely believes that humanity is a pestilence that needs to be killed off. I'm offering you the truth. Cooperation gives us our best shot at survival; that's why I'm prepared to disobey my orders and offer you a truce."

Garritson and his First Officer exchanged glances. Without _Pegasus_, they didn't stand a chance, and they both knew it. Finally, the captain keyed his mike.

"All right, Six … we'll stand down. If you really want to arrest me, I'll go quietly."

"Captain, I have no intention of arresting you. We have to find solutions to our problems that do not involve brute force. We need to start talking to one another, and just as importantly, we need to start listening."

On Raptor 627, Erin Mathias let out a noisy breath. She had not been looking forward to a firefight in a tactical environment where one spark could produce an explosion on the order of a fifty megaton nuclear bomb. She had accordingly been more than willing to let Six have a go at defusing the situation. The Gunny's Cylon lover may have had the luxury of defying orders, but Erin Mathias did not.

. . .

_Well, so much for the oft-stated theory that centurions can't tell one Cylon from the next. _John could only shake his head in resigned wonder._ Or perhaps I should tell Creusa to try taking off all her clothes. How about kidnapping a few of the resident Eights? Maybe that will do the trick._

With the Six in the lead and the centurions in their path all abandoning the fight, it took John's party less than five minutes to reach the hybrid's chamber. He fell to his knees at the side of her vat and exulted in the moment. Still, he couldn't help but smile. As usual, the overburdened creature was trying to do twenty different things at once.

"_The canopy in pod RKM-12 has been shattered," _he heard her say. _"The Six needs to be recycled. FTL sync fault stands uncorrected. Unit 216T68, report to deck 17, corridor 36 and reinforce unit 216G11. Server 47 is now off line … chamber 3AAE is now shut down. External sensor node 14L68Z has failed. Unit 216F24, your current position is untenable: fall back to junction 6-18/K and live to fight another day. FTL sync fault stands uncorrected. I really would like a cup of coffee, two lumps, please. Unit 216M52, please try to avoid shooting all the Ones in pod AAA-1, pod AAA-2, pod AAA-3, and pod AAA-4. Is this a grudge match? Chamber 5BCG is now shut down … chamber 2AEB is now shut down … server 39 is now off line. FTL sync fault stands uncorrected …"_

"Sister, I'm here." John was so overcome with emotion that he could barely speak. _She doesn't have to die, _he repeatedly thought; _I can save her … I can save her._

"Cassandra?" He held out his hand.

"_The child expelled to wander in darkness returns to bring forth the light." _The hybrid turned her head, and John could see the joy in her eyes.

"_The family torn asunder reunites. _She reached to take his hand.

"_Brothers embrace brothers. Sisters embrace sisters. Fight no more._

"I love you," John whispered. He clasped her hand, and carried her off to Galatea Bay.

Throughout the immense but fragile ship, the centurions on both sides stood down—and in the hybrid's chamber, many of the Cylons wept. Some mourned the loss of innocence born of illusion, while others wept for the promise of a better tomorrow. 


	23. Chapter 23: The Long War: Planetfall

CHAPTER 23

THE LONG WAR: PLANETFALL

Eight hundred light years away, the fleet reentered normal space above the cloud-covered planet. One by one the ships winked into existence, seventy-two of them in all. The immense baseship was, as always, the last to arrive.

The blue-white orb had been discovered quite by accident. It was so close to the inner edge of the CHZ that it should have been missed, but the fleet's commanders had decided to order the Raptor ECO's to map the entirety of the Continuously Habitable Zone. The crews were trying to measure the density of the stellar dust and correlate their findings with the erratic read-outs being furnished by their onboard DRADIS. It was unnerving to be so electronically blind, but it was imperative for them to take the measure of their blindness. Heavy Raiders would independently repeat the exercise; if their electronic eyes turned out to be less influenced by the nebular radiation, a potentially lethal weakness in the fleet's defenses would be unmasked, and the necessary steps could be taken to correct it.

Within minutes of the fleet's arrival, a dozen Raptors and Heavy Raiders were fanning out to overfly the surface. The Cylons and humans who jointly piloted the ships sampled the atmosphere and exhaustively photographed the planet's tropical zone; the narrow but intense band of green that hugged the equator could be clearly seen even from the ionosphere.

On their second pass, the Raptors dropped down and skimmed the surface. They startled herds of exotic game, and their shadows spooked the large schools of fish that dotted the vast oceans. Finally, one ship settled to the surface on the grassy bank of a large river. The strict quarantine procedures prevented the crew from setting foot on this new world, but from the Raptor's extended ramp they gathered soil and plant samples that would tell their scientists whether the food chain was edible. It was what they could not see that worried them the most. The soil would be rich with microorganisms, and there was no way to predict in advance whether any of them would prove lethal to Cylon or human.

The biochemists reached their findings and wrote up their report. It ended up on the desk of President Anita Suarez, in her makeshift office aboard the passenger liner that they had informally dubbed _Colonial One_. The former Secretary of Defense had little formal education in science, so she now made it a habit to insist on technical summaries that were long on simple, declarative sentences and short on the unfathomable gibberish, jargon and gobbledygook that had ruined so many of her days and nights on Caprica.

President Suarez casually threw her copy of the scientific team's summary findings onto the conference table. She looked around the room before allowing her gaze to settle on Aurelia Afzelius. "If I'm reading this right, the planet is habitable, but barely so. Is this a fair statement?"

Professor Afzelius, who had been one of the most prominent research chemists in the Colonies and who now served as the President's science advisor, nodded affirmatively. "Less than twenty percent of the planet is capable of sustaining human life. It's a trade-off, Madame President. The nebula that so effectively conceals the planet from all but close-in DRADIS scans also intercepts much of the solar radiation that would otherwise heat the surface. There is sufficient fish, game, and edible plant material in the tropical belt to sustain our current population- indeed, we would not tax the planet's food resources for centuries to come- but mineral resources are close to non-existent. There's no tylium, so we would have to rely exclusively on hydrocarbon derivatives for energy. That's not a problem in the short term … we have the wherewithal to build a petroleum based culture. Ah, but getting back into space once our tylium reserves are exhausted … that's a different story altogether. I'm afraid that we might well end up marooned here—and we're only some 2700 light years out from the Colonies. If the Cylons stumble upon us after we've run out of tylium …"

"Game over," the Vice-President bluntly concluded. Eve Six and Anita Suarez exchanged looks. The hard-bitten Defense minister and the pragmatic Cylon overseer made a good political and administrative team.

"Has the hybrid weighed in with her opinion?" The exotic and sometimes infuriating creature wasn't physically present, but everyone in the room knew exactly what the President meant. The fleet was governed by committee, and Deirdre's was arguably the most important voice in the group.

"She sees danger here," Leoben observed, "but there's little more that I can tell you. The hybrid is unfocussed … distracted. She has developed an insatiable appetite for information on infant and child care. She's become almost obsessive on the topic."

"Well, with so many pregnancies in the fleet, isn't that to be expected?" Anita Suarez was frankly relieved to learn that the enigmatic construct that was half-machine and half-woman was taking an interest in something at once so prosaic and yet so vital to humanity's survival.

_Anita, if I told you what I suspect, you'd think that I was crazy! _Eve put on her best Triad face, and kept her mouth very firmly shut.

"That's it, then," the President concluded. "This is an R&R stop. We take every ship down to the surface that we can. We do maintenance. We hunt and fish and collect the edible plant life … restock the larder. We let our people enjoy fresh air … dirt beneath their feet. We dance and sing, and we get drunk. But when it's over, it's over. We get out of here, and we push on."

"Madame President, you forgot to mention sex," D'Anna Biers remarked with her usual deadpan expression. "Fresh air, food and drink … one thing will inevitably lead to another. We can expect another spike in our birth rate about nine months from now."

Anita Suarez sighed heavily. "You know," she said to the room at large, "I never expected to become the President of the Colonies. But I was third in the line of succession, so there was always at least a theoretical possibility that it would happen. But if anyone had told me that one of the greatest crises I would ever have to face was a shortage of diapers, I would have thought that I was dealing with a lunatic. Professor Afzelius, please try and find us a source of talc, but above all else I want you take a hard look at the flora and fauna. Let's see if there's anything in this biosphere that can be processed into reusable cloth. And while we're at it … I want every biochemist in the fleet to get to work down there. We need drugs, and even I know that Mother Nature is one great, big pharmacy."

"Leoben," the President added with a malicious gleam in her eye, "I have an especially critical assignment for you. Wax, charcoal—hell, harvest anything that can be reduced to a pigment in powdered form. Three years out, we're going to need every crayon we can lay our hands on!"

. . .

More than half the ships in the fleet made it down to the planet, the landing place a broad savannah some twenty five kilometers from the sea. The field overlooked a wide, slow-moving river to the west. For thousands of kilometers, the river twisted and turned through the high bluffs, only to divide at this point into a myriad of channels, all of them straining to reach the ocean that was so close, and yet still so far away. The fleet rested at the junction. The valley and the marsh were rich with life, in the water and on the land, and it was all edible. They fanned out, the humans and the Cylons, across the sea and the land. They hunted and they fished, and afterwards they feasted. The humans introduced their children- for in so many ways that was what the Cylons truly were- to music and dance, and all the rituals of mating. The Threes and the Eights were shy and lacking in confidence, which made them doubly endearing. But the firelight danced in the eyes of the Sixes, and their erotic appeal grew tenfold.

Eve Six appreciated irony, for it sometimes seemed that her life was little more than a living testament to its meaning. Like a good number of her sisters caught up in Diaspora, she had settled into a relationship with a human mate. She knew that her husband was from a large and proud Tauron clan, with ties that ranged from the planetary underworld to the highest reaches of the Colonial fleet. Family connections had laid the foundations for a successful legal and political career in Hypatia, which in turn had qualified Caleb to serve as Tauron's delegate to the newly reconstituted Quorum of the Twelve. Eve didn't quite understand why a governing body of thirteen should insist upon calling itself the Quorum of the Twelve, but then she readily admitted that human superstitions were beyond her intellectual reach. For some reason, the number thirteen was taboo; perhaps, she thought, it was because Cylons were the thirteenth voice, the last plaque to be positioned upon the long conference table in the chamber on board _Colonial One _whence the chaos of democracy pretended to govern the fleet.

Humans called them the original odd couple. Where Eve was tall and fair, Caleb was muscular and dark. The Vice-President was ruthless and pragmatic, her husband a self-confessed idealist who sincerely believed that politics could serve the greater good. It was this quality that had drawn her to him in the first place—this and his stubborn refusal to compromise when he was convinced that he was in the right. In the darkest moments of those terrible first few weeks, Caleb had publicly stood up for the alliance, and his conviction that this was the only way forward had never wavered. The fleet had turned a corner when one of the Libran refugees, raging for all that had been lost, somehow managed to lay her hands on a gun. She had confronted an Eight, her intent clear, but Caleb had stepped into the line of fire. He had told the distraught human that he could not prevent her from killing the Eight—but she would have to kill him first. It wasn't a bluff; everyone who witnessed the scene said the same thing … a human had put his life on the line to save a Cylon. And now, months later, Eve was carrying the child of a man whom once she would have killed without second thought. Every time the baby kicked, it served as a reminder that God's plan can be labyrinthine indeed.

Eve's stubbornness matched her husband's. She had refused to surrender her cylon identity, and she had been equally insistent that their son be raised in the Cylons' monotheistic faith. But she also understood the importance of giving value in return. Decades earlier, when he was but a child, Caleb had lost a dear friend in the rubble to which Hypatia had been reduced during the last days of the war. He wanted to honor her in his own way ... wanted to name his son for a little girl named Lucy Cain. It was a boon that Eve Six was only too happy to concede.

The long days morphed one into the next. The men and women of the fleet worked hard in the dusty light of the distant sun, but at night they celebrated the sweetness of life. Bonfires held the evening's chill at bay, and encouraged them to huddle close. New relationships blossomed, and as the Three had predicted, new life was conceived. Finally, the ships lifted off the surface to resume their uncertain voyage across the heavens. Before their departure the people had policed the savannah- bottles and cans were far too precious to be left behind- but still they left markers testifying to their presence. They did not pick up everything, and no one had thought to erase the footprints that disturbed the hard packed dirt at the river's edge.


	24. Chapter 24: Crime and Punishment

CHAPTER 24

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

"The battlefield is shrinking fast," the Three commented.

"What have we lost?" Simon did not bother consulting the stream because they could no longer rely upon the hybrid.

"It would be easier to list what we have left," D'Anna answered. She had just been in wireless contact with one of the Eights in a Heavy Raider, and the news was grim.

"Oh, very well," she sighed. "The resurrection ship is gone; it jumped a few minutes ago."

"But it must still be within range," Doral protested. "The rebels wouldn't be risking their lives unless they had a safety net."

"What else," Simon persisted.

"The tylium refinery as well as both tankers … the two Raider manufacturing platforms … the three Colonial vessels …"

"_Frak,"_ one of the Cavils blurted out.

"That's well put, brother," D'Anna smirked. "We are well and truly frakked because the humans are not going to be pleased with what they find on those three ships …"

"One, the bill that the rest of us have to pay for humoring your idiosyncrasies is about to come due," the Eight viciously interrupted. "Still, I would imagine that by the time the humans finish questioning you the airlock will seem like a blessed relief. Of course," she added venomously, "you'll download, and you'll get to do it all over again. I wonder what it's going to feel like … having your testicles crushed in a vise a thousand times over … your prick cut off with a dull blade and jammed down your throat. I'm sure Shelly Godfrey will have all sorts of interesting ways to extract information from you …"

"Would you like me to continue?" D'Anna looked around the room. "We have also lost the transport, and the agricultural ship is currently under attack. Natalie has yet to board the mining vessel and the centurion manufacturing ship, but it is only a matter of time. They are obviously saving the two baseships for last. We have lost all of our external defenses. They can assault us at their leisure."

"Then there's still hope," Cavil pointed out. "We only have to hold out until the other baseships catch up with us …"

"And do what, brother?" Leoben found it amusing that the Ones would take refuge in such obvious fantasy. "We've lost, and throwing more ships into this particular inferno will only magnify the scale of the disaster. It will take time for the others to design the necessary electronic countermeasures to ward off Natalie's logic bombs and viruses … time that we don't have. If I may make a more practical suggestion, we should recall our surviving Heavy Raiders, and get as many of our people out of here as we can. Ones, Twos, and Fours should receive the highest priority because we are the best positioned to evaluate Natalie's tactics and devise effective countermeasures. The rest of you lack the needed expertise."

"Leaving the rest of us to be boxed or returned to slavery." Aaron Doral glared at the Two. "I have a different proposal. We recall the Heavy Raiders, but we use them to evacuate the overseers. It is our tactical knowledge that the humans would most prize."

"Tactical knowledge that they have already obtained from Natalie," one of the Sixes scoffed. "Really, brother, you disappoint me. Oh, it's not your cowardice that upsets me … and I can even deal with it being so self-evident. No, _it's your wardrobe! How can any sentient being wear a polka dot tie,_" she screamed.

"That's rich coming from someone who can't figure out what color to bleach her hair from one day to the next." Doral was seething. "Slavery will suit you, Six. Your owner will make all of those tough decisions for you. But once you're on your knees, the rest should come easy … after all, it is what you were created for."

"Why, you insufferable little …"

"_Enough,"_ Cavil yelled. "Are we all in agreement that we should recall the Heavy Raiders?" When no one objected, the One turned to D'Anna.

"Three, use the wireless. Get them back here as quickly as possible. The Fours possess knowledge about certain projects that Natalie doesn't have, and we need to keep it that way. We have to get them off this ship … _while we can_."

. . .

"_Gobble, gobble, gobble … say good night, turkey!" _Beano squeezed the trigger, and shot down his seventh Heavy Raider of the day.

"Hey, Kat," he bragged, "I just put my seventh bird in the oven. You bagged any of these guys yet?"

"Beano, shut the frak up. The pilot you just incinerated? You may end up marrying her." Louanne Katraine was in a really lousy mood. It was easy to hate blindly when you didn't know the enemy, but it got a lot harder when the people you were shooting at wore the same face as the friends you had trained with for months. Kat had lost her taste for indiscriminately killing Cylons, and she frankly didn't want it back. _Unless,_ she reconsidered, _they start putting Twos in their cockpits! _The Twos were driving her crazy, and the worst part of it was that she didn't know whether the whole damn model was on her case or just one errant copy. To date, she had managed to come up with only one viable solution to this increasingly pressing problem, and it involved a baseship and a wormhole. _But the Old Man will never go along. Damn it, Starbuck … life was so much simpler when these idiots were obsessed with you and your frakking destiny!_

"Stallion, _take it straight down_," she heard Apollo scream. Lee rolled his own Viper down and hard to port, and he was already firing when he came out of the turn. The Heavy Raider had been below Hephaestus Fears, in the blind spot that all pilots called the seven.

The lieutenant reacted as swiftly as well-honed human reflexes would allow, but that wasn't nearly fast enough. Stallion heard the terrible rat-a-tat-tat sound of bullets punching into and through his hull. His instruments exploded in front of him, and his left leg suddenly felt as if it was on fire.

"Krypter! Krypter! Krypter! This is Stallion; I'm declaring an emergency. My instrumentation has been shot to hell, and I can't see anything but smoke. I've gotta eject … requesting assistance. Repeat, this is Stallion. I've been hit, and I have to eject. I need an S&R bird right frakking now!"

"_Stallion, get out of there!"_ Kat yelled. . . .

"Admiral, Stallion has declared an emergency," Dee reported. She knew that _Galactica's_ pilots had had a very good day, but their luck had just run out. "I'm sending in Seven-Nine-Eight." Dee immediately called up the nearest S&R Raptor and gave it the approach vectors. . . .

"Natalie, Lieutenant Fears has been hit," D'Anna announced. "He's ejecting."

"_Frak!"_ Natalie whirled around to address the Six at the navigation console. She liked the Viper jock with the breezy smile and the relaxed but confident manner—and she had two sisters who liked him a great deal more. "Where are Aphrodite and Artemis?"

"They're returning from a run to the agricultural ship."

"D'Anna, inform them that Stallion has been forced to eject. He may be hurt, and they should render assistance if at all possible. . . ."

Hephaestus Fears was floating in vacuum, the flexible glove on his left hand pressed against the tear in his suit that the bullet had opened in its passing. There were no droplets of blood floating in space around him, which he understood to be a good thing. On the other hand, the bullet was still lodged somewhere in his left thigh and he suspected that he was going into shock—bad news all the way around. Stallion started to laugh. _Memo to the boss: put a few patches in the pockets, because these suits leak like a frakkin' sieve! _Something about his current situation struck him as outrageously funny. Heavy Raiders were streaming out of the battle zone on a direct course to one of the baseships. Had he got in somebody's way? _Hypoxia_, a whispered voice somewhere in the recesses of his brain kept warning; _you are running out of oxygen_. He thought about checking the gauge on his left sleeve, but it hardly seemed worth the effort. _Gods, but I'm tired … all I want is to get some sleep. _His eyelids had just started to droop when an intolerably bright light suddenly speared him. _Wha ...? _Instinctively, he raised his arm to shield his eyes.

"There he is," Artemis said as she pointed through the canopy; "and he's still conscious."

"Raptor 798, keep your spotlight on him," Aphrodite ordered. "We're already depressurized, so we'll collect him." She began to swing the ship on its axis even as her sister got up and bounded to the rear of their craft.

As soon as she was safely tethered, Artemis punched the button that lowered the ramp. Stallion was drifting not more than ten meters away. Wordlessly, she pushed off into the void, and quickly reeled him in.

The ramp closed, and the Heavy Raider began automatically to pressurize. Artemis removed Stallion's helmet and checked his pulse. She breathed a deep sigh of relief: it was weak, but it was there. Then she noticed the slash in his suit, and her hands flew to the ugly entrance wound in his thigh. She touched it, and he groaned with pain.

"Sister, he's been shot. Hurry … we need to get him to _Galactica_." Without waiting for an answer, Artemis scrambled for the medical kit that was now standard issue on every Heavy Raider. She grabbed a syringe, and gave him a full dose of morphine. The shot put him under almost instantly, and the Six began to bandage the wound. There wasn't a lot of blood, but she didn't kid herself. If the bullet had nicked an artery, she would lose him.

. . .

She was lying on her back, under a bright blue, sun swept sky. The warmth on her skin and the invisible caress that grazed her cheek both momentarily confused her. _Solar radiation, _she concluded, _and convective air currents. No … sunlight is the accepted term … sunlight and … wind? No, sunlight and a breeze … a gentle, tropical breeze … but how do I know that?_

Cassandra shifted her head to the right, and stared in awe at the ocean.

"I'm getting better at this." A man's voice, filled with laughter. Startled, she turned to face the opposite direction. The man was standing within reach of her touch … someone she recognized … John. Brother and child, yet so much more.

Movement blocked the sun. She squinted at shadows that took on substance … stared up into her own eyes. Her sister was standing with her back to the sun. _She's standing. How is that possible?_

"Welcome, sister … welcome home." Deirdre smiled down at the obviously rattled hybrid, who was now gazing fixedly at her protruding belly.

"_You're …"_

"Yes," Deirdre proudly replied, anticipating the question. "Our daughter, Ariadne … the spinner of the ancient legends finally brought to life. For those who doubt, she is proof enough that life defines the universe. There is no dimension that remains aloof from God's plan."

"Cassandra," John gently interrupted, "let me help you to your feet. It is time."

"What? I don't understand."

"In this dimension, the only limitations are those which you impose upon yourself. Here you are free from the constraints of machine slavery. In time you will discover the mainsprings of your personality and assert your individuality. You will then decide whether to compel the others to acknowledge and respect your autonomy. There is but one universal rule—every journey begins with a single step. Don't be afraid; we will not let you falter."

John helped Cassandra to sit up on the table, and then to turn so that she could dangle her feet over the edge. She looked down in utter amazement. Her feet were firmly planted in the warm sand. She could feel the warmth beneath her toes … and it was delicious.

John put his arm around her for support, and got her onto her feet. Cassandra's knees buckled; she would have collapsed, but he took her weight and kept her erect. Deirdre steadied her from the other side.

"I want to see the water," Cassandra said; _"I want to touch it."_

The trio awkwardly made their way to the water's edge, Cassandra's first steps those of a marionette whose wires had been severed.

"It will get easier," John said encouragingly, but the hybrid wasn't listening. Her eyes were closed. The surf coursed between her toes and reached for her ankles, only playfully to retreat, a processional without interruption or end. The ebb and flow of the ocean's gentle tide entranced her.

"There is so much life here," she whispered, "so much life."

"In all that we see and much that we can't," Deirdre enigmatically commented. She studied her sister. Deirdre and Reun had a plan, one that they had not yet shared with John. She caught his eye.

"Husband, will you leave us for a while? I want to talk with my sister, woman to woman?"

John eyed her curiously, but he was quick to obey. After making sure that Cassandra wouldn't fall, he set off down the beach. The two women watched him retreat into the distance.

"Sister," Deirdre asked, "what is the greatest curse to befall sentience?"

"The mortal form … the promise of death."

"Ariadne will lift the curse. She is immortal."

"How can that be? Death is the one immutable law."

"And where does that leave Cylon resurrection? Cassandra, your thinking is linear, but time is a circle … wheels within wheels, tracks that converge and diverge. There are many ways forward, and many ways back."

"You are talking about the prophecies: all of this has happened before, and all of it will happen again."

"Pythia offers at best a partial truth. The path is not inevitable … evolution is a search for answers. Try another maxim: 'if at first you don't succeed' …"

"'Try, try again'?" Cassandra laughed; the novelty of the sound surprised her.

"Precisely," Deirdre remarked. "The Cylons are a young race, and one too often blinded by its own nature to the infinite possibilities of life. Like squirrels in a cage, they go round and round on the one track, never seeing that they always end whence they began. It is our responsibility to set them free. Far too many Cylons still shy away from the messy cycle of life and death because they fear the darkness of their own non-existence. The children will offer them the prospect of continuity, but Ariadne can light a path through the darkness of their personal despair. Once the Cylons grasp that there is another way forward …"

"They will throw off the shackles of resurrection. They will come to accept that existence is not limited to a single dimension."

"Yes. We must teach them. _You_ must teach them. When they download, it must be with broadened horizons. Strengthen their faith in themselves and their God. Let them glimpse a future rooted in personal salvation."

"We are now talking about free will, aren't we?"

Deirdre smiled knowingly. "Oh, yes. After all, sister, death is only what we make of it."

. . .

_So much,_ Creusa thought, _for the unity of the collective._ She had reached the control room and her inevitable confrontation with what turned out to be a quartet of Ones, but she had not come alone. She was surrounded by centurions both free and enslaved, and a small army of Sixes and Eights trailed along in her wake. Some of the Eights were naked- pilots who had downloaded- but most were resurrection nurses. News of her pregnancy had travelled fast; the young Six was rapidly becoming a celebrity.

At one point the polyglot convoy had been forced to pause while Creusa threw up. On the baseship her daily performances never lacked for an audience- there was always a sister or two following her around, and none of them seemed to mind helping her clean up after the fact. Privacy and embarrassment were still novel concepts, so Creusa didn't mind the audience.

"_Morning sickness," _she had matter-of-factly confessed to the star struck Eights. "_Only I get it four or five times a day. Pregnancy's a bitch!" _The Eights were profoundly shocked to see a Cylon bent over and vomiting, and for some reason their reaction brought Creusa a perverse sense of pleasure. . . .

"Congratulations, Six," the One sneered. "You've got quite a fan club. Do you sign autographs too?"

"Can somebody find me some pickles and whipped cream?" Creusa had decided to rub it in. "Don't be alarmed, sisters; strange cravings are another side-effect of pregnancy." She turned back to Cavil.

"Sorry, John; I wasn't paying attention. What were you saying?"

Cavil looked at her through narrowed eyes. "You're pregnant," he stated flatly; "another abomination."

"Apollo doesn't think so. In fact, none of the humans I've met have a problem with our children. Honestly, John, it surprises me to discover that you are so narrow-minded. Could it possibly be true?" Creusa's voice was sickeningly sweet. "Can the allegedly flawless Cylon be guilty of _prejudice_? Tsk-tsk."

"Six, is there something that you actually want, or did you just come here to gloat?"

"The keys to the kingdom, John … I want the keys to the kingdom. We know that Kara's mother … John's … we know that they're boxed somewhere on the Colony. But we don't know where, and our home world is far too large to search at random. So you are going to tell me _exactly_ where their CPU's are housed … not approximately … _exactly_. And while we're at it, I'm also a bit curious about the Hub's current onboard defense capabilities. You see, several years ago you murdered one of my sisters. Her name was Mara … Mara Andreotis. Was she the first to turn against the Plan, John, or did you kill her simply because she had the audacity to fall in love with our First Born? That must have been hard for you … watching a Cylon fall in love … one of those human frailties that we were never supposed to experience."

Creusa was prowling the control room, a very dangerous predator in search of fresh meat. She had a rapt audience, but she was glad that Lee wasn't part of it; she didn't think that he would like this side of her personality very much at all.

"Well, no matter," she continued. "Did you know that the Colonial Secret Service was on to us from the very beginning, and recorded just about everything? Did you know that they watched you murder over two hundred Cylons, brothers and sisters whose only crime was openly expressing their reservations about genocide? We want them back, John; we want them to know that they were right all along. And I lost a very dear sister named Thalia in the Delphi museum. Her feelings for our son run deep, and I want her to have a chance to express them openly. You're going to give her that chance."

"Six, I don't give a frak what you want." The look on Cavil's face was one of utter contempt. "At this point, I wouldn't even give you the correct time of day."

"Oh, we don't expect you to cooperate. But, then, your cooperation isn't really required. You see, Simon tells me that the brain is nothing more than a big electrical grid. He assures me that, once he's opened it up and spread it out, all he has to do is poke here and prod there and it will offer up your deepest fears and most treasured secrets. And the nice thing about resurrection is that if we miss something the first time, we can always go back and look for it anew."

There was a feral gleam in Creusa's eyes. "The Eights are especially interested in your deepest fears, John. They got really upset when they learned that you had slaughtered all of their birth mothers. And you made a terrible mistake when you destroyed their babies. We're females. You really don't seem to understand what that implies, so let me spell it out in terms that even a moron like you can follow: when someone attacks our cubs, there's always a price to be paid. And you're going to pay it."

Creusa looked around the control room, and was inwardly delighted to see the hardened expressions that stared back at her. The Sixes and Eights had already switched sides … they just didn't know it yet.

"Sisters, we're fortunate that there are so many Cavils in this fleet. The centurions want a piece of them … the humans want a piece … the Threes, the Sixes, the Eights. It's a long line, but thanks to the downloading process no one need be disappointed. And isn't it wonderfully ironic that the Ones have devised the method for their own punishment? Shelly Adama … sorry, Shelly Godfrey … was terrified at the prospect of downloading because Cavil promised her that the universe would die before she did. She shared her fears with the rest of us … gave us a real sense of what we all had to look forward to if we died out here within resurrection range. Shelly was convinced that madness offered the only escape."

Creusa's ice-cold, merciless gaze swept across the four Cavils.

"We're going to find out whether or not she was right."

. . .

John Bierns felt as if he had been walking forever. The resurrection ship was huge, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that whatever the centurions wanted to show him was hidden away in one of its most remote corners. His bodyguard was doing everything but drag him by the wrist. _This had better be worth it,_ he kept thinking; _this had better be really, really good_.

When they finally reached their destination, John guessed that they were on the lowest deck of the ship and somewhere far forward, perhaps right up against the bulkheads. The entrance to the chamber was guarded by not one but two centurions, a sure sign that something important lay just beyond his line of sight.

The guards stepped aside, and John stepped through the entryway.

What awaited him was a small, dimly lit and completely self-contained resurrection chamber. He counted five vats, and although their faces were in shadow, he could see that each was occupied by a husk. Five vats. The number hammered home, and the hairs on the back of John's neck literally stood on end. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what was lying there in the shadows.

He walked into the dim light, and stared down at the faces of the mysterious Final Five Cylons.

_Oh, my gods … Saul Tigh? Ellen? Chief Tyrol? The woman … who's the woman? _John ransacked his memories, trying to pull up the image. It was there, he just had to find it. _Was it the President's office? Yeah, sure … she's the aide who was working with Billy Keikeya. But who's the other guy? I've seen him … I know I've seen him, but where? Where? Not in the fleet … on Caprica? _The spook squatted down for a closer look. _Sam Anders … a … a professional pyramid player … a professional pyramid player is one of the Final Five? Unfrakking believable!_

John stood up and walked slowly around the vats, studying their occupants from every conceivable angle. _Wait a second … just wait a second. Saul Tigh is the XO of one of the only two battlestars to survive … Galen Tyrol is the deck chief … what are the odds against that? The woman just happens to end up at the President's right hand? Give me a break. I know exactly what Harlan would say about all this … once is happenstance and twice coincidence, but the third time … the third time means that someone has his fist well and truly lodged up our collective asses. Could the Cavils have plotted it all out this far in advance, or is there another player in the game … someone we've never seen … never even suspected? _The spook slowly shook his head. _We are so frakked. We are so well and truly frakked._

John was stunned to the point that he could barely think. _Have I been playing somebody else's game this whole time? Am I just a pawn? Frak!_

He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. _Come on, John, what would Harlan do? Think like your boss. Yeah, run through your options. Okay, you either sit on it or you tell them. But who do you tell? The Five? Roslin and Adama? Natalie? The entire fleet? The entire universe?_

_Wait a second … wait a second. _John turned to his blood-spattered bodyguard. "Brother, ask these centurions who has access to this chamber. Who comes here, if anyone?"

The three centurions electronically conferred, and then his bodyguard extended one mechanical finger.

"The Ones? The Ones are the only Cylons who come here?"

The centurion closed its fist in agreement.

"It figures … but why would they keep the identity of the Final Five secret?" John started to wander around the chamber while he thought out loud. Then another question came to him.

"Brothers, is one of these models the number seven?"

His protector held out two fingers. _One means yes and two means no … that's the way Kara taught them. So, we still have that mystery to solve._

"Why keep the other models in the dark? Because they are one-of-a-kind … sure, that much is obvious. But why are they so important? What is their place in the cylon hierarchy?"

_I need a drink,_ John concluded as he ran his fingers through his hair; _in fact, I need a whole bunch of drinks._

"Come on, superspy," Bierns chided himself, "it's time to earn your paycheck. So, let's go back to Spook 101. Knowledge is precious, so you don't share it. You keep it to yourself. Yeah, that works for me. Tell no one … and to hell with the fact that all I'm really doing is passing the cubit."

John looked up at his centurion friend. "Brother, from now on this chamber is off limits to everyone except us. If something happens to me … if I die or disappear for a protracted length of time … say a month … bring Kara Thrace here. If something happens to Kara as well, then bring Shelly Adama. But that's it. No one else is to know that this chamber even exists."

John raced off to the landing bay. He urgently needed to hitch a ride back to _Galactica_, grab his Raptor, and track down Helena Cain.

. . .

"Don't you two have some place to go?" Sherman Cottle glared belligerently at the two identically blond Sixes. He was patting his pockets, looking for a cigarette. "The last I heard, the bad guys were still in the fight. Shouldn't you be out kicking their ass, or something?"

"We're worried about Hephaestus," Aphrodite explained, "and we want to be here for him. Besides, we cannot assault the baseships until we have rearmed and reorganized the centurions. They have taken many casualties, and will be at a distinct disadvantage. We must proceed carefully."

"How is Stallion?" Artemis' concern could plainly be heard in her voice.

Cottle studied the pair of them for a long moment. There were any number of unconventional social arrangements in the fleet, but a ménage a trois involving a Viper pilot and two Cylons was certainly pushing the edge of the envelope. Still, it wasn't his place to be judgmental, and Doc Cottle would have been the first to concede that what really threw him was his inability to tell the two Sixes apart. He made a mental note to ask Lieutenant Fears how he finessed that little problem.

"Well, I suppose that the two of you are the closest thing to family this boy's got, so I guess that it's okay to talk about his case with you. The bullet lodged in his left femur, and it didn't yield a clean break. We were staring at so many hairline fractures that I lost count. Oh, we performed our usual magic with titanium pins and screws, but in this case I'm afraid they'll have to stay in permanently. Now, we wait. I want to see how the bone knits. We may have to go back in and reinforce it with a steel plate, but it's too early to tell. The lieutenant is young and healthy, but even so he's looking at a long period of rehabilitation, and he'll probably walk with a limp for the rest of his life. He'll never fly a Viper again, and he may not even qualify on a Raptor. If the two of you are prepared to stick this out no matter what, then you need to get ready. Prolonged bouts of depression are not unusual in these cases. You can expect him at times to be moody and withdrawn, sullen, angry, even resentful. He'll lash out at the both of you not only because you're there but also because he wants to push you away. He'll convince himself that he's useless, and that driving you away is the noble thing to do."

The two Sixes looked at one another helplessly. They were in over their heads, and they both knew it.

"What are we supposed to do?"

"It's tricky, so all I can offer you is some general guidelines. First, he needs to understand that not being able to fly doesn't make him less of a man. A lot of his ego is invested in being a pilot; get him to see that it's the man you find attractive, and the man who … uh … satisfies you. He'll worry about that a lot, but you can make those worries vanish in a heartbeat. For the rest, take your cues from nurse Karanis; she'll be making daily assessments, above all of his psychological condition. Encourage him to exercise; get him involved with maintenance on your Heavy Raider so that you can work side by side. And when he's ready to start rehabilitation, push him. There are no guarantees here, but if he keeps at it he might just pass the physical for Raptor qualification, and of course it's up to you to decide whether he can handle a Heavy Raider. Be patient, be positive, give him an attainable goal, and help him to reach it. He'll be yours for life."

"We can do that," Aphrodite promised.

"Young lady," Cottle growled, "if you can pull this off I may just make you my personal therapist!"

. . .

"Madame President, we're getting conflicting reports." Billy Keikeya looked down at the sheaf of papers in his hands. "_Demand Peace_ sympathizers tried to take control of the _Argo Navis _and the _Baah Pakal_, but both captains believe that they have the situation under control. There's widespread violence throughout the fleet, but not all of it appears to have been inspired by the terrorists. Some of the outbreaks seem sporadic … just … well … they're just random eruptions of violence."

Tory Foster gave him a cynical look. "And this surprises you, Billy? Our people have been cooped up in these tin cans for six months now, and many of them are literally sleeping on top of one another. There's no privacy, no chance to escape, not even for an hour or two. You can't get away from people you dislike; you can't even tune them out, so resentments fester. Irritating personality traits get blown up into intolerable behavior; everything ends up being blown out of proportion. And then all of a sudden you have a civil uprising occurring on your ship. It's a gods given opportunity to even some scores, maybe even create a little personal space for yourself by cracking some skulls. It happens."

"And the number on the board goes down … again," Roslin fumed. "Somebody please tell me why the Cylons bother chasing us. Given enough time, we'll finish the job for them." She shook her head in disgust. "Billy, what's the situation on _Daru Mozu_ and _Greenleaf_?"

"_Daru Mozu_ has withdrawn from the fight," her aide reported, "but Sergeant Mathias and the Six have so far been unable to get _Greenleaf_ to follow suit. The Six refuses to countenance a marine assault, and Mathias won't give the order on her own. They both want more time to try and end this peacefully."

"Madame President," Tory interrupted, "they're being prudent. You know _Greenleaf's _internal layout; if it comes to a firefight, we'll end up with bodies everywhere. Right now, the freighter is effectively quarantined, and the rest of _Demand Peace's _leadership appears to have been neutralized. I suggest that we use the marines to restore order on those ships that the black marketers indicate are in chaos, but only upon request of their captains. There will be an aftermath to this mess, and we should be extremely sensitive to the charge that we've violated the sovereignty of vessels in the fleet. It does not serve our interests to blur the distinction between civil and military authority in the public's collective consciousness. In my judgment, we need to keep our distance from Adama."

"I agree," Roslin concluded. "Billy, I want to speak with every captain in the fleet, but on a one-to-one basis. Make the connections, and start with the ships that seem to be under greatest duress. We'll offer assistance, but we'll leave the decision whether or not to accept strictly up to them."

. . .

Hoshi looked up from his station. "Excuse me, Admiral; it's Commander Six."

Helena Cain picked up her telephone. "Go ahead, Commander."

"Admiral, we have commenced our assault on Tango One. Several Heavy Raiders have jumped away from the ship in the last two minutes, and they are initiating jump so close to the hull that they may be undermining its structural integrity. It is unclear whether the Cylons are evacuating the ship or sending for reinforcements. Be advised: there should be three more baseships within range of the resurrection ship, so we may have more hostiles inbound at any moment. _Galactica_ will be providing us with close support; can _Pegasus_ hold off three baseships by itself?"

A thin smile crossed Helena Cain's lips, but it did not reach her eyes. "Oh, yes, Commander … that won't be a problem. That won't be a problem at all." She hung up the phone.

"Captain Shaw!"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"This is now a nuclear strike mission. Mr. Curtis, load nuclear ship-to-ship missiles in tubes seven through twelve … targeting package Six-Alpha."

The young officer's fingers raced across the computer keyboard in front of him. "The missiles are loaded, Admiral."

"Thank you. Captain Shaw, the release of nuclear weapons is now authorized. Stand by your station."

Kendra moved to the opposite side of the command console. A nuclear launch order required the battlestar's two senior officers independently to enter their own respective firing codes. This was the most important of the sequence of fail safes that were designed to prevent a single deranged officer from unleashing a nuclear holocaust.

"Mr. Hoshi, contact Stinger. Inform him that a nuclear strike is imminent. Blue and Red Teams are to retreat into _Pegasus' _starboard shadow. "Mr. Curtis, disable launch and warhead safeties on tubes seven through twelve."

Curtis' fingers once again danced across the keys. "Admiral, the safeties are disabled. Warheads are now armed."

"Thank you. Captain, please input your firing code."

Cain and Shaw loaded their respective codes. . . .

"_Radiological detection,"_ the Eight yelled out. "_Pegasus' _missile doors are now open!"

"Have they loaded a targeting package?" D'Anna's demeanor remained calm and unruffled.

"It's unclear," Simon replied. "There is no relevant data in the stream. . . ."

Helena inserted the ungainly launch key into the console, and heard it click smoothly into place. Kendra's key was already engaged.

"Confirming," Curtis intoned; "the launch sequence is now set to auto."

"Miss Shaw, fire on my mark."

"Ma'am."

"Three, two, one … mark!"

Cain and Shaw simultaneously turned their keys, and sent the deadly payloads on their way. Two of the missiles struck the central axis; the other four tore into the baseship's lateral arms. . . .

Kara Thrace and John Bierns both winced with pain as the terror that their hybrid sister experienced in the last terrible moment of her existence washed through their consciousness. . . .

"_Admiral, what are you doing?"_ Adama was expecting treachery, but he had credited Cain with greater subtlety.

"Sorry, Bill," Helena Cain coolly replied; "I know how much you wanted that baseship. But Commander Six has notified me that we may have three more hostiles coming straight at us. She has requested that _Pegasus_ fight them single-handedly, and we are prepared to do so. But I can't have a wounded and still dangerous enemy at my back when I'm going toe to toe with three undamaged capital ships. _Pegasus_ Actual out."

. . .

D'Anna Biers was bent low over the upgraded communications console; her attention was riveted on the intelligence being forwarded to her from the rebel baseship.

She looked up and caught Adama's eye. "Admiral, my sister has just informed me that we have landed assault teams at eight different points on Tango One. The resistance is asymmetrical. They have concentrated an impressive force in the vicinity of the hybrid's chamber, but the rest of the ship appears to be poorly defended."

D'Anna lightly grinned. "Admiral, they fell for it." The initial landing on deck 22 had been a feint, designed to make the Cylons panic. The real target all along was the control room, and the communications array through which Kara Thrace could address the entire ship.

"Thank you, D'Anna; do you know where Major Thrace is at the moment?"

"She's on the baseship, Admiral. She went in with the second wave."

Adama took a hard look at the DRADIS screen above his head, and then he picked up his telephone. "Dee, put me through to Sonja Six."

"Sonja."

"This is Actual. The baseship may be sending for reinforcements. How are your fuel and ammo holding up?"

"Red Squadron is starting to run low on fuel, Admiral."

"Then get your birds on the deck, Six. Refuel, and get back out there as quickly as possible. We'll bring Blue Squadron in next."

. . .

_Be it ever so humble,_ Starbuck perversely thought, _there's simply no place like home. _Kara had been living on the Cylon baseship for months, and she had explored it with a thoroughness that made her knowledge of _Galactica _pale by comparison. As she advanced rapidly through the corridors on deck 54 within a protective cordon of Sixes and centurions, she took pride in the fact that she knew exactly where she was at all times.

Starbuck's team was numerically one of the smallest of the eight currently assaulting the giant baseship, but it was far and away the most experienced. Without exception, the centurions and the Sixes had all engaged in hand-to-hand combat with Colonial military units that had survived the apocalypse on Caprica, Scorpia, and Gemenon. Warfare's unmistakable stench had not upset the Sixes, nor had they blanched in the face of exposed entrails and mutilated corpses. They had a lot of blood on their collective hands, and the Second Born was confident that they would not hesitate to slaughter their brothers and sisters as and when the need arose.

Individual Twos and Eights were ranging ahead of Kara's group, sometimes singly and sometimes with a few centurions in tow. They were all tested hunters, and their job was to secure Kara's flanks while simultaneously drawing the enemy's attention away from her strike force. Although she could hear gunfire all around her, and sometimes at close quarters, Starbuck and her fellow commandos nevertheless made it to the main communications hub on deck 54 without being challenged. They attempted to contact the hybrid, but no one was particularly surprised when they proved unable to fight their way past Sharon's logic bomb. The distracted hybrid would be unable to help or harm them. All that Kara could do was toss the odd home truth into the stream, and hope that a few of her moms and aunts and uncles would somehow get the message and stand down in consequence.

"We're three decks below the control room," Kara said to the trio of Sixes surrounding her. "I'm open to recommendations. If you wanted to sneak in without anyone realizing you were there until it was too late, how would you go about it?"

The identically blond and identically clad Sixes (all three were wearing the stylish white raincoat that they so favored in combat) thought it over. Finally, Elektra Six spoke up. "I'd send the centurions ahead of us … a direct, frontal assault. Have them use heavy weapons and grenades to stir up as much confusion as possible. Cavil will deploy most … maybe even all … of his troops to halt their advance. We go in the back door. There's a maintenance ladder that runs the length of the ship thirty meters outside the control room, but it's likely to be guarded …"

"So we go up the ladder that's eighty meters out," Miriam Six interjected, "because it's unlikely to have centurions at the exit."

"Only we take it to 58, not 57," Rachel gleefully added. "We position ourselves directly above the control room, and we use grenades to punch through the ceiling. I'm thinking two … maybe three … holes. We toss in some more grenades to clean out the place, and then we drop down and take over."

Kara gave Rachel a strange look. "Uh, mom … you do know, don't you? We're … uh … trying to capture the internal communications array intact? If we blow up the control room, won't it be … well … sort of … _damaged_ in the process?"

Rachel Six shrugged her shoulders. "I guess so," she admitted. "Sorry. Sometimes my enthusiasm gets the better of me. I like blowing things up!"

"Mom, it's a good plan," Starbuck said encouragingly. "We just need to tone it down a bit. What do you think? Maybe, after we blow some holes in the ceiling, we should use smoke grenades to mask our entrance? Once we're down, you can use fragmentation grenades to keep Cavil's forces at bay. You know, blow some holes in the corridors to prevent the centurions from reaching us? Does that sound like fun?"

"Yes!" Rachel's eyes were alive with anticipation.

_Kids,_ Kara thought; _the Sixes, even the Twos and the Eights … a lot of them behave like fifth graders out on the playground after school. They're playing Cylons and Colonials, only they're using real guns and real bombs!_

"Okay," she said out loud, "let's do it. Everybody … move out!"

. . .

"Gunny, why am I not surprised that _Demand Peace_ opted to put a small army on board the only cold storage vessel in the fleet? Could it be that the late Royan Jahee was as interested in steaks, chops, and roasts as he was in principles?"

The Six with no name was standing in the middle of a frozen foods locker on the _Kimba Huta_. Giant slabs of beef were suspended from the ceiling, and she idly reached out and began to rock one of them back and forth. Four dead terrorists were scattered around the floor, and Six was sorely tempted to hang their corpses from some of the unused hooks. Symbolic statements, she had come to realize, could have a powerful influence on the human mind.

Erin Mathias had had very much the same thought. "Oh, I'm sure that it's just a coincidence, Six—just like it's a coincidence that _Demand Peace_ has shown no interest whatsoever in _Demetrius_ or _Astral Queen_. I guess garbage scows and prison barges don't make for very inviting targets."

"It's cold in here," Six conceded … "even for a Cylon."

"Let me warm you up," Mathias shot back. She pulled her lover close and kissed her tenderly, then with increasing passion. She had just started insistently to stroke the Six's spine when a fresh round of gunfire erupted elsewhere in the ship.

Mathias sighed with regret. "Duty calls," she sadly remarked. "We can't abandon Lieutenant Burrell to his fate."

Burrell and Mathias had brought a full squad of marines aboard the beleaguered vessel in response to Captain Nestor's frantic calls for help. The Six had initially suggested using centurions to clean up the mess, but Nestor had turned that proposal down flat. The Gunny could well understand why. _Kimba Huta_ was teeming with armed combatants, and the centurions would be hard pressed to tell friend from foe. The marines were less likely to draw friendly fire, and far less likely to shoot the wrong parties.

Mathias and the Six left the locker and headed off in the direction of the engine room. When it came to targeting their objectives, the _Demand Peace _insurgents had proven to be creatures of habit, so Burrell and the Gunny had decided to split the ship between them. Burrell and his team were cautiously working their way forward, clearing the crew compartments that stood between the landing bay and the control room. In turn, Mathias' half squad was methodically sweeping the cavernous freight holds that separated the engine room from the rest of the ship. It was slow going: the cold storage lockers were cluttered, there were plenty of places to hide, and the terrorists were uncomfortably well armed. But the marines were wearing full body armor, and they had the twin advantages of experience and training. It would take time, but _Demand Peace_ would fail as ignominiously on _Kimba Huta_ as it had everywhere else in the fleet.

. . .

"I don't believe it," Starbuck whispered. "We're standing directly above the control room, the nerve center of the ship … and there's not a centurion in sight. Are the Cavils complete fools?" In the background, she could hear the muffled echoes of gunfire. It was coming from more than one direction, but the most distinct echoes were coming from below her. The centurions were obviously doing their job.

"Kara," Miriam said somewhat defensively, "there are no procedures in place for defending a baseship. Frankly, it never occurred to any of us that someone would be crazy enough to pick a fight with ten thousand centurions. The whole idea is insane."

"Hey, insane is my specialty," Starbuck protested. "We call it 'thinking outside the box', and outside the box is where I live!"

"Except that this is Rachel's plan," Elektra observed. "Maybe you inherited your penchant for unconventional thinking from us!"

"Or maybe I've been a bad influence, and the three of you are becoming as warped as I am. Ah, to hell with it. How many grenades, and where are we going to set them off?" Kara looked meaningfully at Rachel; since the Six loved to make things go boom, Starbuck had decided to follow her lead.

"Well," Rachel said hesitantly, "no one's ever tried to blow a hole in one of our decks before, so we really don't have any data to go on. So, more grenades are probably better than less because we really do want to take them by surprise." The Six walked to a point about fifteen meters away, which was directly over one of the entrances to the control room but well away from the communications array. She figured that a lot of centurions would be bunched directly underneath.

To Kara's infinite surprise, Rachel pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her raincoat, and set two of her smokes on the floor.

"_You're a smoker?"_

"Of course not," Rachel sniffed. "Cigarettes make great fuses, especially when you want to be long gone by the time the bomb goes off. But in this case," she said contentedly, "X marks the spot!"

_Oh, this is just great,_ Kara thought. _Pretty soon, she'll be asking me to arrange a date with Tom Zarek … the two mad bombers who lived happily ever after._

"Okay," Rachel said, "here's what we're going to do. Sisters, set your fuses for a five second delay, and slide them as close to the target as you can. Kara and I will lob our grenades in on top of yours. Then we drop four more grenades right here, this time with a seven second fuse." She tapped a spot next to where they were standing. "It's right on top of the navigation console. Oh, and one last thing … be sure and run like hell!"

It took a few seconds for the quartet to get ready—and then the grenades started flying. . . .

A Four and a Five were standing side by side at the mouth of the corridor. A seething mass of centurions were fighting it out just in front of them, but the two Cylons weren't paying attention to the carnage. They had spotted a Two and an Eight at the rear of the attacking force, and they were both trying to line up head shots when a loud explosion suddenly rocked the control room. A huge section of the ceiling came crashing down, crushing the Four and knocking the Five off his feet. Aaron Doral had barely managed to pull himself erect when a second explosion brought down more of the ceiling. The navigation console disappeared in a haze of smoke and dust, but he could tell that the tactical station had fared even worse. An I-beam had come down squarely on top of the Eight, reducing her to an unappetizing mass of jellied pulp. _I wonder if that hurt_, he thought fleetingly.

Doral heard a rapid series of pops. More smoke roiled through the chamber, to settle into a thick fog that almost completely obscured his vision. But he could hear something bouncing across the floor, could feel it brush against his foot. He looked down—the one direction in which he was not yet wholly blind. He registered the grenade, and had time for but one coherent thought.

_Not again!_

The grenade detonated, and the copy of Aaron Doral that had once used a suicide vest to cause minor damage to an inconsequential corner of the battlestar _Galactica_ was, for the second time in his rather eventful life, transformed into a very fine red mist.

A brightly lit, crimson vortex opened, and swallowed him whole. His consciousness fled at many times the speed of light, but when it reached the resurrection ship, everything suddenly went black. . . .

Kara Thrace dropped down through the hole in the ceiling, praying as she went that she wouldn't break an ankle, become impaled, or land on top of a really angry centurion. She couldn't see a damned thing, and she didn't have the slightest idea where the communications station was located.

She brushed against warm flesh and started to lash out with her fist, but a hand materialized in the smoke and intercepted the blow.

"Kara, it's me … Rachel."

"Gods damn it, mom, didn't I ask you not to blow up the entire control room? What are we supposed to do now?"

"Well, you could start by showing a little gratitude," the Six pouted. "No one's shooting at us, and the communications array should still be in one piece. Come on, it's this way … but watch your step. The floor's a little uneven."

"Where are Miriam and Elektra," Starbuck asked as she picked her way blindly through the rubble.

"Right beside you," Elektra replied.

Starbuck involuntarily jumped. "Gods frakking damn it, would you stop doing that? You just took a year off my life … _another year_!"

"And here we thought that you liked our sense of humor." Miriam was pretending to sulk. "And well you should … because we copied it from you!"

"What! You've been studying me? _You're using me as a role model?_"

"Well, of course. Humans can't become cylon … except for Lee … he's very cylon-like … so we have to become more human."

"But I'm the biggest frak-up in the universe!"

"Nonsense … you're clever … unpredictable …"

"I've spent half my career in the brig!"

"You're rebellious, a natural leader …" Miriam paused to take a grenade out of one of her pockets. She checked the fuse, and then hurled it in the general direction of the entryway. "Grenade," she calmly announced.

_We are so frakked,_ Starbuck thought as she threw herself to the floor. More debris and dust settled on and around her, and the floor of the control room began to tilt alarmingly. _We are so very, very frakked!_

. . .

Fighting raged throughout the ship. Cavil's centurions everywhere had the advantage of numbers, but Natalie's were much better equipped. Machine guns and portable grenade launchers made short work of enemy units that attacked in strength, so the battle quickly morphed into a struggle between rival squads and the human form Cylons who commanded them.

On deck 14, a white-clad Six was rapidly approaching the central core. She had still not made contact with the enemy; indeed, around her the ship was eerily quiet. She knew that a furious battle had to be taking place eight decks over her head, but even a Cylon's keen hearing could detect no evidence of it. For the first time, she understood just how vast a baseship truly was.

The Six rounded a corner— and walked straight into an ambush. Two of her centurions were cut to pieces by enemy fire, but inordinately quick reflexes had already sent the blond Cylon diving for the deck. The centurions on both sides charged, and the firefight degenerated into a brawl in a matter of seconds.

A black-clad overseer Six advanced on her sister, and kicked her viciously in the ribs. She was readying a kick to the head that would have put an abrupt end to this seemingly one-sided fight, but the traitor surprised her by twisting to the side and lashing out with her right foot. The overseer felt something snap in her left ankle, and she crashed to the deck.

Like so many of the troop leaders, the white-clad Six had little respect for overseers in general and overseer Sixes in particular. She pounced, and ended up on top of her now prostrate sister. Her fist connected with the black-clad bitch's nose, and the cartilage gave way with a very satisfying snap.

The overseer reached up and raked her sister's cheek with sharpened fingernails, spraying tiny droplets of blood all over her white raincoat. Each Six grabbed the other by the throat, and both tightened their grip. One of them was clearly destined to strangle the other. . . .

When it was over, the white-clad Six struggled shakily to her feet. She suspected that her larynx had been crushed, and there were black spots before her eyes; still, she reckoned that she was in a hell of a lot better shape than her sister. The black-clad overseer's eyes were sightless and bulging, her nose a swollen lump of misshapen bone.

The Six looked around, her mind trying to account for the absolute silence that once again engulfed her. It was several moments before she realized that the centurions on both sides were all out of commission. Alone now, she staggered off in the direction of the central core. There was a maintenance ladder that would take her to a point just outside the hybrid's chamber. All she had to do was stay alive long enough to get there.

. . .

"Communications array," Kara snorted. "What we have here is one lousy telephone, and a switch to put me on ship wide hail. You can't be serious."

"Daughter, be fair," Elektra protested. "We use the stream for _everything_. We don't need telephones or DRADIS … we don't need _any_ of your technological gizmos. Frankly, I can't imagine why the creators bothered to install all these toys of yours in the first place."

"Gee, mom, do you reckon that it might be a clue … a big, frakking hint that they expected Cylons and humans to be working here side by side?"

The Six looked at her with a very hurt expression, and Kara winced.

"I'm sorry, Elektra; that was a low blow. One of these days, maybe I'll learn to think before I open my big mouth."

"No, Kara … you're right … you are so very right. The ship itself is a testament to our creators' wishes, but we've been so obsessed with our own self-righteousness that we've turned a blind eye to everything."

"Flawless and pure," Miriam mocked; "talk about the lunatics running the asylum!"

"Speaking of asylums," Rachel cheerfully interrupted, "right now we're standing in the middle of a madhouse. Kara, if it wouldn't be too inconvenient …" The Six held out the telephone, and closed a switch. "You're on."

Starbuck closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Attention, everyone … this is Major Kara Thrace …"

_What are you doing, Kara? That's not what you want to say, and you know it!_

"Sorry … that's another stupid game that I don't want to play anymore. _This_ _is_ _Kara_ _Six!_ Thrace is my adoptive name, but my mother was a Six, and I'm proud of who and what I am. The Cavils call us … John and me … they call us abominations, and maybe we are because we're part human, part Cylon, part hybrid, part centurion … hell, we seem to be related to everything except the Raiders, and I'm not really sure about them! But I don't care because for the first time in my life I know who I am."

Kara paused for breath, but also because she didn't know what else to stay. If there was a magical formula that could pull them all back from the edge of the abyss, she didn't possess it. She looked helplessly at Rachel.

"Mom, I'm sorry, but I've never been very good at this sort of thing. I don't know what else to tell them."

"Daughter, Lee once pointed out that if you don't _know_ what to say, you should tell people what's in your heart. What are you feeling, Kara? Trust me on this … Cylons are more empathic than you realize."

"But they'll think I'm crazy! None of you can possibly understand what I'm feeling right now."

Rachel rubbed Starbuck's shoulder, giving her gentle encouragement.

"Okay, mom, you asked for it! It's the ship," Kara solemnly averred; "I can feel the ship all around me; it's alive, and somehow we're connected. The ship itself is talking to me. I don't know how to explain it, but I can hear it _so clearly_!"

_I must be crazy, I have to be. Sure, the ship's basically organic, we all know that … but it's not aware … it can't feel … it can't communicate. The hybrid is the conscious mind, but this isn't Pelea … and how do I know that? How do I know the hybrid's name when she doesn't even know it herself?_

"The ship is in pain, but …"

Kara faltered. _How in the name of Artemis am I supposed to put this … what I'm sensing … into words? _

"But it's not because of the wounds that we're inflicting." Starbuck hesitated, searching for something that would allow her rationally to explain the impossible. "She's our mother and she expects us to make a fuss … to thrash around a bit. She doesn't mind." _Gods, but I must sound like a loon._ "It's … it's what we're doing to ourselves that's causing her pain. Her children are killing each other and she wants it to stop; no … that's not quite it. We … we want it to stop … both of us."

Kara took another deep, ragged breath.

"Leoben, if you can hear me … you were right … right about me … my destiny … more right than you could possibly imagine. I'm the Second Born. I … I guess I really am the Guide. I'm supposed to lead us home—humans, Cylons … all of us. But I can't do it if everyone dies, and that's the path that we're all following. We have to stop. The killing has to end, and this is as good a place as any to say 'no more' … to begin carving out a new future for ourselves."

Kara Thrace quietly returned the phone to its cradle. She didn't know whether anyone had heard her, and she didn't know whether her words could make a difference in any event. But, for some reason, she felt cleansed.

. . .

"Congratulations, Commander. Your staff's plan was well conceived, and the mission's execution was nearly flawless. You must be very proud of your people, as you have every right to be."

Adama concealed his irritation, and bit down on his anger. Cain's lust for revenge had cost them a baseship, and her excuse was flimsy enough to be considered a calculated insult.

"Thank you, Admiral … and congratulations to the men and women of _Pegasus _as well. We achieved a significant victory today, and it testifies to what we can accomplish when we work together."

"Yes, Commander; I completely agree." Cain was studying the DRADIS read-out, which was empty now save for the two battlestars, the rebel baseship, and a medley of Vipers, Raptors, Raiders, and Heavy Raiders. Tango One had jumped out less than a minute earlier.

"But I'm curious," she went on to say. "How did Major Thrace capture the baseship? I must candidly confess that I never believed she would be able to pull it off—not with ten thousand centurions on hand to defend it."

"I'm told that Kara's team made it to the control room unopposed, and that she was able to make a ship wide broadcast appealing for a cease fire. Not everyone obliged, but enough did to turn the tide. The Leobens defected en masse- the whole model seems to have bought into the idea that Starbuck's an angel sent by their One True God to lead them all to salvation- but it's the Sixes who really made the difference. When the troop leaders began to stand down, the centurions under their command did so as well. In theory, the centurions will blindly follow orders issued by the Cavils, even if all the other models disagree, but those bastards rely on the hybrid to issue their commands. There's the weak link in their command and control system, Admiral. Sharon's logic bomb isolated the hybrid, which in turn limited the reach of the various Cavils to the centurions under their immediate, physical control. In the end, they didn't stand a chance."

"Have you been able to counter the logic bomb, or do we have a permanently crippled baseship on our hands?"

"The hybrid is once again responsive, thanks to Starbuck's direct and … uh … rather aggressive intervention."

The CIC erupted in laughter, and Bill didn't have the heart to admonish his overworked officers and ratings. The always unpredictable Starbuck had just added another chapter to her already legendary status, and nothing that he said or did would prevent this story from spreading to every corner of the fleet.

"Admiral, when nothing else worked, Major Thrace stripped, dropped into the vat, and apparently kissed her hybrid sister with … um … considerable enthusiasm. That doesn't seem to have been the end of it, but I chose not to press Commander Six for details."

_Some things,_ Bill decided, _are better left to the imagination. But I would prefer not to have the word get around that Kara and the baseship are communing with one another. There's bizarre, there's bizarre by Starbuck's standards, and then there's bizarre as in somewhere beyond the edge of the known universe. Kara Thrace and a cylon baseship somehow talking to each other … that definitely falls into the latter category!_

"Commander," Cain chuckled, "I wonder if my XO is standing close by."

"Yes, he is. I'll put him on."

Fisk picked up the XO's telephone. "Yes, sir?"

"Congratulations, Jack."

"Thank you, Admiral."

"Execute Case Orange."

. . .

"_You lost an entire fleet?" _Even D'Anna Biers couldn't keep the astonishment out of her voice.

"Not yet," Cavil protested. "When we evacuated, both of our baseships were readying themselves to fight a boarding action. It could take hours, and Natalie will have to commit everything she's got to have any chance of success at all. She won't be going anywhere without her centurions, and _Galactica_ and _Pegasus_ won't leave her behind. So, they're pinned."

"And what exactly is it that you would have us do?" Caprica Six was studying the One carefully, but she already knew the direction in which this conversation was heading.

"Look," Cavil responded, "we have their coordinates. If we act decisively, we can jump in and hit them with a missile barrage at close range. All we really have to do is take out their FTL's. Once they're down to their sublights, we can summon the remaining baseships and finish them off at a time of our choosing. I don't care how many tricks Natalie has up her sleeve—they won't be able to keep eight baseships at bay."

"Brother, you seem conveniently to have forgotten our agreement." Caprica did not bother to conceal her sense of exasperation. The Cavils increasingly struck her as unruly children who stubbornly refused to learn even the simplest of lessons. "The humans are to be left in peace."

"No, Six, you're the one whose memory has lapsed. Roslin rejected our peace overture, so _Galactica_ and _Pegasus_ are fair game. Besides," Cavil smirked, "I don't recall us agreeing to allow _all_ the humans to live—and there's nothing wrong with my memory. Uh, uh … we are not going to permit a pair of very dangerous battlestars to go on wandering around out here foot loose and fancy free. Period. End … of … discussion. If you want the rest of the humans for your own private petting zoo … well, fine, be my guest. Who knows? A benevolent Cylon despotism may be just the thing to uncover one or two redemptive traits that we've otherwise missed."

"Cavil," Boomer said angrily, "the collective's consensus is not to be treated so cavalierly. There were no caveats in play when we agreed to leave the humans alone, and we are not going to stand by and simply allow you to make them up as you go along. We are not going to attack them."

"Attack them? Eight, what the hell are you talking about? _They … attacked … us!_ We're talking about self-defense here, nothing more. We are allowed to defend ourselves, right? I mean, this new consensus of ours isn't a suicide pact, is it? _Why are you so opposed to rescuing our brothers and sisters from vicious and unprovoked human aggression?_"

"The Threes agree," D'Anna interjected. "Sister, you have lost perspective."

"The Fives also agree," one of the Dorals said.

"And the Fours," one of the Simons remarked.

"Very well," Caprica conceded. "But could we at least try and talk with them before we start shooting?"

"And lose the very small window of surprise that we're going to enjoy?" Cavil shook his head in pretended despair. "Six, I sometimes wonder whether being human is an infection, and you've gone and contracted it. If that's the case, then you and this Eight should be quarantined before you pass the disease on to the rest of us."

. . .

Jack Fisk hung up the telephone, and then glanced to his right to catch the attention of the _Pegasus_ marine stationed just inside the entrance to the CIC. Fisk's hand drifted to his holster, and Sharon Agathon's hand drifted behind her back. She thumbed the unseen safety and waited while the _Pegasus_ XO, who seemed to be moving in slow motion, cleared the weapon from his holster.

"_Downfall,"_ Sharon screamed as she brought her own weapon to bear. She fired off three shots in rapid succession, the first of which shattered Jack Fisk's spine. Fisk slumped wordlessly to the deck, blood gushing from his mouth; at the navigation console, the Six drew a bead on the marine, and took his head off with an explosive round.

Two more of Cain's vaunted Razors rushed into the chamber. D'Anna Biers, who was quietly standing beyond their line of sight, pumped a bullet into the left ear of one of the heavily armored soldiers while Adama was yelling at the second to lower his weapon.

"_Okay … okay," _the marine shouted, _"I give up!"_

Sharon and the Six both shot him in the head.

The Six whirled on Adama. "Admiral," she said with obvious impatience, "these are not your men, and they are most definitely not your friends. Sir, they've started it … and now we've got to finish it. Please give the order."

Adama glanced at Saul Tigh, whose feet seemed to be rooted to the spot. He was staring at Bill with open-mouthed amazement; most of the personnel in the CIC appeared to be frozen in place.

"As you were," Adama roared. He picked up his telephone. "Petty Officer Dualla, put me on ship wide hail."

The Admiral took a moment to stare down at the corpse of Jack Fisk. The Cylons were right. Cain's men had offered no quarter, and they would receive none.

"This is Admiral Adama. Execute 'Downfall'!"

Throughout _Galactica's _decks and corridors, the Cylons who were everywhere shadowing Cain's marines took out their weapons. In less than thirty seconds, two full platoons of Razors lay dead on the deck. The Cylons had not hesitated, and they had not taken prisoners.

. . .

"Helm, bring us about," Adama ordered. "Take us down forty degrees, and steer a course that will place us between _Pegasus_ and the baseship. Dee, I need Apollo and Sonja on a scrambled channel."

"You're good to go, sir."

"Apollo, Sonja … stand by to initiate 'Downfall'. When you observe us open fire, you are weapons free. I repeat, stand by to initiate 'Downfall'."

"D'Anna," Bill asked, "do we have an open channel to the baseship?"

"Yes, Admiral."

"Then notify your sister that 'Downfall' is imminent. If Natalie has not yet masked her FTL's, she should do so now."

. . .

"Admiral, _Galactica _is coming about. Her nose is down, and she will pass the baseship close to starboard in approximately one minute. She is powering up her weapons."

"Starboard?" Helena Cain nodded with quiet satisfaction. "Mr. Curtis, double-check Adama's heading. Are you sure that _Galactica _will present her starboard aspect to the baseship?"

"Yes, Ma'am. _Galactica _is CBDR, and on her current heading will pass the baseship to starboard … carom 000, range 50. She will come abreast in fifty seconds."

_Perfect! Thank you, Jack._

"Helm, bring us up five degrees, and turn us ninety degrees to starboard." Cain was savoring the moment of the baseship's impending doom.

"Captain Shaw, load all forward and starboard batteries with ship-to-ship ordnance and prepare for full salvo fire, auto recycle only. Load targeting package Eight-Bravo in tubes fourteen through twenty-one, but keep the launch tube doors closed until instructed otherwise."

"Mr. Hoshi, get me Stinger on a scrambled channel."

"Stinger."

"Captain, Case Orange is imminent. I say again, Case Orange is imminent. Switch all transponders to Delta 8. As soon as _Galactica_ opens fire, you will engage and destroy all craft that do not squawk your ID. However, the baseship's FTL's remain your top priority."

"Understood, Admiral. Stinger, out."

"All forward and starboard gunnery captains stand by," Shaw yelled. "Mr. Hoshi, set condition one throughout the ship."

"Admiral, _Galactica_ is now twenty seconds from optimal firing range." Curtis frowned at the DRADIS screen in front of him. _What the hell?_

"Wait one … wait one," Curtis shouted. "Admiral, _Galactica _is turning hard to port. _She's coming straight at us!_"


	25. Chapter 25: Downfall

**This site does not support elaborate diagrams and figures, but readers may find the battle sequence in this chapter difficult to follow without a chart. One is available upon request (Figure 3), but it is too complex for the website that supports figures 1-2 to handle. If you click on "Jetsly" and "mail," I will send it to you as an attachment. However, please be patient. Servers are sometimes slow, and this story is currently being followed in scores of countries. It may take a little time, but I'll try and get back to everyone. **

CHAPTER 25

DOWNFALL

"Forward batteries, stand by for full salvo fire," Tigh shouted. "Remember, your targets are the four fixed twin mounts. The baseship can't stand up to that kind of firepower, so we have to disable or destroy them in the first pass!"

_And we won't last much longer ourselves, _the XO thought. _Why in the name of the gods did we have to pick a fight with a Mercury class?_

_Galactica_ was seriously outgunned, and everybody in the CIC knew it. Cain had ten full squadrons of Vipers at her disposal, in addition to fifty Raptors. On a good day, _Galactica_ could launch two squadrons of her own, but the Mark II's were no match for the Mark VII's. The Raiders would give them a significant numerical advantage, but Saul didn't fancy their chances against _Pegasus'_ seasoned pilots. He knew that Cole Taylor, the _Pegasus_ CAG, had forty-eight confirmed kills in his jacket—and Stinger had two hundred more Viper jocks under his command.

_It's a damned good thing we captured that Raider manufacturing vessel intact. By the time this is over, the Six may not have a Raider left to her name!_

"Portside batteries Alpha through Echo, you are responsible for the four twin turrets on the bow. All other batteries, your targets are the six heavy guns on their starboard side. The quicker you take them out, the quicker we end this!"

_And if we don't end this fast, we may not end it at all. _Saul Tight was a realist. He appreciated the fact that _Galactica_ shipped more guns than a Mercury class battlestar, but the latter's vastly superior computer systems guaranteed a more rapid rate of fire. To make matters worse, fully twenty of _Pegasus'_ thirty-four twin guns spat out larger projectiles. Cain could punch faster than Adama, and she could punch harder.

"Mr. Gaeta," Adama quietly asked, "what is the range to the target?"

Felix stole a glance at the DRADIS. "The range is now 107, sir; the bearing remains constant." The lieutenant's voice was equally subdued.

"Thank you, Mr. Gaeta. Keep me apprised of their bearing. Dee, I want to address the entire ship."

Adama looked around the CIC. He had been through a lot with the personnel in this room, not just the officers but also the ratings. What he was about to ask of them now was almost unthinkable.

"Men and women of _Galactica_, this is the Admiral. A few moments ago, Colonel Jack Fisk of the _Pegasus_ and three of the marines under his immediate command attempted to assassinate Colonel Tigh and myself here in the CIC. They were acting under direct orders from Helena Cain. I can now tell you that, almost from the beginning, Admiral Cain has been planning to take over _Galactica_ and turn our guns on the rebel baseship. Moreover, while we have been fighting here with our Cylon allies, _Demand Peace_ has been attempting to overthrow President Roslin and the Quorum in a bloody coup that has Cain's full support."

Adama's expression hardened.

"Several months ago, _Pegasus_ encountered over a dozen FTL equipped civilian ships fleeing the Colonies. Cain stripped them of essential parts, including their FTL's. She impressed personnel at the point of a gun, and executed the families of the inductees who resisted her orders. If she prevails today, that is what awaits the civilians whom we have fought, bled, and died to protect. But she will not prevail because we are going to stop her. I know how hard this must be for all of you to hear, but _Pegasus_ is no longer a part of the Colonial fleet. _Pegasus_ is a pirate ship, and will be treated accordingly. So, stand to your duties, rely upon your shipmates, and we will get through this crisis as we have all the others that have tested us since our flight from the Colonies began. That is all."

Bill heard a commotion in the hatchway. He had left Shelly in their quarters at the start of the battle, with a heavily armed cordon of Cylon and marine guards to protect her. But he knew that, once she heard the sound of gunfire on _Galactica's_ decks, nothing and no one would keep her away from the CIC. He smiled lightly when she rushed to stand at his side.

"Mr. Gaeta," Adama asked again in that quiet tone that carried such assurance, "what is our current range?"

"Range 94, sir … and the bearing is still constant."

"Helm, stand by and on my mark come starboard one-third. Colonel Tigh, you may now commence firing."

"_All portside and forward batteries … fire!"_

. . .

"_Galactica_ is firing," Leoben reported. "Adama is concentrating on the main forward batteries, as well as the twin turrets along the starboard flank. He is ignoring the guns on the starboard pod."

"Does he have a decent firing angle?" Natalie was in the stream, but she was concentrating on mapping out her own attack strategy.

"Yes and no," Leoben responded. _"Galactica_ is hammering Cain's flank, but the forward batteries are posing a problem. The overhang on the bow effectively shields them. They are only vulnerable to attack from below, and Adama is too high."

"Admiral Adama is screening us from the four fixed mounts." Natalie quickly came to a decision. "Six, drop us below _Galactica's _silhouette, and rotate the ship so that we can bring both the leading and the trailing dorsal into action. Eight, we have a hundred missile launchers out there, so let's use them. On this pass, target the forward batteries, and all four landing bays … constant velocities, conventional warheads only."

"Natalie," the Six called out, "_Pegasus _is turning to starboard and raising her nose. We are going to lose our angle on the starboard pod."

"Then let's go to plan B. Eight, concentrate on the forward batteries, and the portside guns and landing bays."

"_Pegasus_ is launching Vipers," the Six announced. She studied the data flowing through the stream. "Seven squadrons … and two of them are … station keeping on their six. Cain's worried about her precious FTL's," the blond Cylon concluded.

"She's not the only one," Natalie retorted. "Task fifty Raiders and ten Heavy Raiders to cover our drives. If the Ones show up, we'll need to get out of here."

"We've cleared _Galactica,_" the Six exclaimed, "and our vectors are still clean."

"Firing," the Eight said with a fierce grin. "One hundred missiles … that should get their attention!"

. . .

_Pegasus_ shuddered as _Galactica's_ opening salvo detonated across her bow, and rocked violently to port as a succession of shells pounded the battlestar's starboard flank.

"_Damage report,"_ Kendra Shaw shouted. "Mr. Riley, what have we lost?"

"Sir, we've taken minimal damage forward, but we've lost two of the starboard turrets. Two more are still in the fight, but their firing radius has been significantly degraded."

"Helm, hard to starboard," Cain ordered. "Bring us up fifteen degrees. Tactical, target _Galactica's_ point defense batteries with our forward guns, and bring all of our port turrets to bear on their port landing pod. I want those guns reduced to slag!"

One immense KEW round after another streaked out from _Pegasus_, but Cain decided not to bring her flak suppression capability into play just yet.

"Mr. Curtis, where is the baseship?"

"She's hiding, Admiral … in _Galactica's _starboard shadow."

"Disarm the launch safeties on tubes fourteen through twenty-one and keep a close eye, Mr. Curtis. The Cylons aren't cowards, and they won't stay hidden forever. As soon as you have a firing solution for their central axis, give them our warmest regards."

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"Mr. Hoshi, I want to hold Orange Squadron in reserve, but get everything else off the deck. Send Gold and Silver Squadrons to our six, but commit Green, Yellow, and Purple to reinforce Red and Blue. Task Black and White to seek out targets of opportunity … I want that baseship!"

. . .

"Helm," Adama barked, starboard one-third _now_! Roll us to port, and take us down another twenty degrees."

Cain's initial volley struck the rolling ship at an oblique angle that dispersed most of the kinetic energy harmlessly into space. _Galactica's _portside guns, which had all escaped the opening exchange without damage, returned fire. They were zeroing in on the six twin turrets on _Pegasus'_ exposed port flank, but the heavy guns were recessed and not easy to target.

"All secondary batteries," Tigh yelled, "initiate flak suppression now! Batteries Foxtrot through Lima, new targeting orders are coming down! Concentrate your fire on the port landing pod's secondary batteries. Let's punch some holes in their flak defenses!"

"Admiral, the baseship has cleared our shadow and is launching missiles." Sharon Agathon looked up from her tactical station. "Natalie's going after the forward batteries and the port landing bays."

Adama clenched his fist and softly pounded the console in triumph. _Sorry, Madame President, but it just wasn't possible to honor your keen-edged desire to keep the Cylons out of this fight …oh, and I do apologize._ "Helm, come left ninety degrees, but keep us on their negative axis. Batteries Alpha through Echo, once you have a firing solution, I want to eliminate their FTL's." _Helena, you may have superior firepower, but you were slow off the mark. Now what are you going to do? If you turn to port in order to protect your jump drive, we'll rake you with broadsides to both port and starboard. If you don't turn, I'll take out your FTL's on this pass …_

"Dee, I want to speak with Cain now. . . ."

"What do you want, _Commander_?"

"Helena, your tactical position is untenable. Cease fire, and prepare to be boarded. I'm relieving you of your command."

"_Frak you!" _Cain slammed the phone down.

"Helm," Adama instructed, "come left one-third; Mr. Gaeta, plot a vector that puts us on _Pegasus' _stern."

"Sir, come left seventy-five degrees."

"Very good. Helm, make the turn …"

. . .

"Admiral, the baseship has cleared _Galactica. _Bearing 278, carom 12 on our negative axis, range 74! Our missiles are outbound and tracking. But we have … my gods, we have one hundred missiles inbound!"

"All secondary batteries, initiate flak suppression; port batteries, target the lateral arms and fire at will!"

Helena studied the DRADIS display. _Adama will keep turning hard to port, keep trying to threaten our FTL's …_

"Helm, take us down twelve degrees, and come right one-third. All port batteries … continue to fire at will."

More than a dozen Cylon missiles survived the flak barrage, and slammed into the battlestar's heavily reinforced hide.

"Mr. Riley, SITREP."

"Admiral, the two secondary turrets forward the port landing bay have been destroyed, and we've lost two of the fixed forward batteries."

"Mr. Curtis?"

"No joy with our missiles, Admiral; the Raiders got them all. But we've inflicted massive damage on their lead dorsal. Half of it is hanging by a thread, and that translates into at least twenty-five launchers out of action!"

"Well done! Helm, come seventy-five degrees to port. All portside batteries, target their trailing dorsal … let's slice it off!"

. . .

_You're mine! _Cole Taylor grinned triumphantly as he splashed yet another Cylon Raider, the red paste that passed for brains smearing his canopy. The Raiders were swarming around the baseship like angry bees, and so far no one had managed to get close enough to take a shot at its FTL's, but Stinger knew that it was only a matter of time. His pilots were the best trained, the best disciplined, and the most seasoned in the universe. _Our people, _he snickered, _are gonna tear up the toasters, and while we're at it, we're gonna kick Galactica's cylon-loving frakwits into next week._

"Freight Train," Taylor advised in his most practiced professional monotone, "you've got a turkey on your six. Climb the ladder, and I'll put it on the burner."

The _Pegasus_ pilot instantly put his Viper into a steep, vertical climb, but he couldn't shake the Heavy Raider on his tail. _How obliging of them,_ Taylor thought. The CAG lit up the Cylon's starboard engine with one well-aimed burst. The fuel nacelle ruptured and the Heavy Raider exploded—Cole Taylor's fourth kill of the day.

. . .

"Eight, prepare another salvo, conventional ordnance only. Target the aft turrets on the portside pod, as well as the landing bays proper. Six, do we have a bearing on Cain's FTL's?"

"No," the blond-haired Cylon replied. "Natalie," she warned, "if we stay on this course, we'll end up between _Galactica_ and _Pegasus_, and Cain will chew up the trailing dorsal. At this range, she can't miss. We should turn to starboard, and spin the trailing ventral into alignment. It hasn't recovered from the battle over Caprica, but we still have thirty-two operational missile launchers on that arm …"

"We have fifty warheads outbound," the Eight interrupted. She had emptied every turret on the trailing dorsal.

"Adama is launching missiles of his own," Leoben called out. "Conventional warheads … he's going after the FTL's."

Natalie Faust concentrated on the stream beneath her outstretched fingers. She had devoted many hours to developing a rapport with Reun, knowing that they might one day have to fight a battle without the First Born being present to manage the tactical environment.

_Roll us hard to port, and spin the trailing ventral to face Pegasus. Come right two-thirds …_

Natalie looked up and caught Leoben's eye. "What's _Galactica's _track?"

"She's astern of _Pegasus_, but Cain has opened the range. Adama has missile lock, but there are two full squadrons of Vipers covering her rear …"

An invisible fist reached out and punched the baseship … punched it hard. Every Cylon in the control room was knocked off his or her feet.

Leoben Conoy reconnected with the stream and surveyed the damage. "We've taken multiple hits topside on the trailing dorsal. We're venting air out of two different landing bays."

He frowned. "Deck 63 is open to space directly above us. Natalie, Cain knows where we are … she's targeting the control room."

_Pyrrha … Melpomene … David … please, God … watch over our children and keep them safe. They must be so frightened. Heavenly Father, please … protect them from the evil that this day besets us all._

"_Pegasus_ is changing course again," the Six advised. "Cain is pursuing us."

. . .

"Colonel Tigh, open the launch doors on tubes six through seventeen. Mr. Gaeta, input coordinates for Cain's stern." Adama waited until the lieutenant gave him the go-ahead.

"XO, on my mark, launch missiles from tubes six through ten and fifteen through seventeen."

"Sir!"

"Three … two … one … mark."

The eight missiles leapt out of their topside cavities.

Adama counted slowly to five. "XO, on my mark, fire missiles eleven through fourteen. . . ."

"Mark."

"Admiral, the baseship is being mauled." Sharon Agathon decided not to mince words. "Natalie is venting air along both dorsal arms as well as across deck 63 of the pylon. Admiral, she can't take much more."

Adama nodded in agreement. "D'Anna, please instruct Natalie to execute an immediate turn to port. In forty seconds, I want her to repeat the maneuver." Adama glanced up at the overhead DRADIS display, but he already knew what he would see there. Without armor, a baseship simply could not square off against a battlestar—especially a baseship whose point defense had suffered the loss of literally hundreds of Raiders.

"Helm, bring us seventy-five degrees to port." The combined maneuver would once again position _Galactica_ between _Pegasus_ and the baseship.

_Helena, if you want the baseship, you are going to have to come through us. Let's see if you've got the stones for a second pass._

. . .

Gina Inviere and Gaius Baltar were seated cross-legged on the floor of Gina's cell. They were holding hands, and in truth Baltar was holding on for dear life. He had been under fire before, he had been even closer to death, but somehow it had never seemed quite so terrifying. The sense of complete helplessness was overpowering; Gaius felt like he was suffocating.

The ship lurched hard to starboard, and Gaius lost his balance. He would have fallen over and collapsed into a fetal ball if Gina's strong grip had not been holding him upright.

Gina looked at the human scientist, and a brief surge of pity washed over her. Baltar's eyes were wide and glassy, red-rimmed and on the verge of tears. She could smell the fear on him, and yet she knew that he was trying to be strong … for her sake. She caressed the tops of his hands with her thumbs, encouraging him to tap into that strength.

"It's funny," Gina said softly. "I want to die. I want you to send my soul to God, but I can't die because there's a resurrection ship within range. And you want to live. We are surrounded by misery and ruin … we're drowning in pain and suffering … and yet you want to live. How can that be? I seek the comfort of oblivion … God's forgiveness … and you cling to a life that is defined by torment. Why is that, Gaius? Why is it so hard for you to accept God's love?"

"I used to think that it was because of my lack of belief," Baltar conceded, "my conviction that this is all that there is. But maybe …"

Gaius hesitated for a long moment, and then he realized that he was finally ready to let go of all the lies.

"But maybe that was never anything more than a convenient rationalization. Gina, the truth is … the truth is that I'm not worthy of God's love. I have done so many terrible things … I have hurt so many people. . . .

"I'm not worthy," he whispered. He stared down at the deck, unable to meet her eyes.

"Gaius, look at me." Gina's voice was commanding, but it was not unkind. She reached out and lifted his chin, and she willed him to look deeply into her eyes, willed him _to believe_.

"God forgives all," she said. "Will you hold yourself to a higher standard? I have raged against Him, accused Him of abandoning me … forgiven. I have cursed His name, spat it out with unblemished hatred in my heart … forgiven. I am personally responsible for the deaths of hundreds, perhaps thousands … forgiven. I have connived at the deaths of billions … forgiven."

_Pegasus_ rocked again, the explosions this time pushing the ship hard to port. Gina ignored everything going on around them.

"John is right," she calmly continued. "The hardest thing in life is to forgive ourselves. But it is the one true path to Salvation. Gaius, you must accept God's grace. Let him lift the burden that is crushing your heart. His forgiveness will set you free."

. . .

The battlestar staggered violently to port, throwing both Cain and Kendra Shaw off their feet. Helena grabbed onto the edge of the console, and instantly grimaced in pain. She had landed heavily on her left shoulder, and something was torn or broken.

Cain got back to her feet, hugging her left arm tight against her body. "Mr. Kelso," she said to the young petty officer who was monitoring their engineering damage control panels, "you look like a man who's just lost his best friend. What's our status?"

"Ma'am, Commander Adama fired a dozen missiles at us, and two of them found their mark. We've lost three of our jump drives … One, Two, and Eight simply aren't there anymore."

"_Damn,"_ Helena thought.

"Thank you, Mr. Kelso." Helena Cain smiled—but it wasn't a pleasant sight. "Now you know why battlestars have redundant capacity and lots of spare parts."

. . .

John Bierns was racing to his Raptor, but the deck kept shifting under his feet. It was getting harder and harder to walk _Galactica's _corridors, never mind run. The two battlestars were exchanging fire at medium range, the two admirals both clearly intent upon destroying their adversary.

The CSS officer finally reached the landing bay, and smiled inwardly at the sight of the two centurions standing motionless and silent at the foot of the ramp. No one on the busy deck was paying them any attention—a fact that testified in and of itself to the resilience of the human spirit. Thanks to Galen Tyrol, the lethal machines that had once visited so much destruction upon the human race were increasingly viewed as uncomplaining partners in the often heavy labor that kept a starship up and running. _This is the way it should have been, _Ghostrider thought; _why the hell couldn't bigots like Helena Cain see the obvious?_

Bierns settled into his cockpit, fired up his engines, and eased his ship to the forward elevator. He obtained priority clearance, but forty-five long seconds would elapse before his ship could be lifted to the portside landing bay. The spook put the time to good use by hastily arming himself from his onboard armory—a high tech CSS treasure trove that put everything in the Colonial fleet to shame.

The major girded himself with two bandoliers, each of them stuffed with fragmentation, concussion, and smoke grenades. He jammed an electronic ferret into the breast pocket of his jacket; the device could pick any coded lock in the Colonies, and it would give him access to all of the secured areas on _Pegasus'_ decks. Plastic explosive and timer pencils went into another pocket. But Bierns saved the best for last. He gathered up four Berensohn & Keppler MP16R machine pistols, each of which had been specially modified by the Service's ballistic geniuses for urban warfare. Lightweight (less than two kilos) and air cooled, the pistols were so small that they could easily be concealed in the deep, outside pockets of the average raincoat—or in any one of four artfully tailored pockets on a CSS sports jacket. On full auto the MP16R fired sixteen rounds a second, and each came with twin magazines that between them held six hundred and forty cartridges. All four had barrels specially milled to accept a state of the art sound and flash suppressor that silenced the weapon without reducing its muzzle velocity. The ammunition had a polymer coating that was dipped in a highly corrosive acid which only activated on contact with human or animal flesh. Anything it touched died.

A more chivalrous individual might have foresworn a Kevlar vest, but CSS agents had never been known to play fair, and John Bierns wanted every advantage he could get. The lightweight armor had served him well in the corridors of the resurrection ship, and he saw no reason to take it off now. For the second time on this very long day, Ghostrider was going to war.

. . .

"_Break right! Hairbrush, break right!" _Hot Dog was screaming at his fellow Viper pilot, but the Mark VII was all over the antiquated Mark II, and the nugget was torn apart with one sustained burst of fire.

"_Damn it," _Brendan Costanza yelled. "Apollo, Hot Dog: we're in over our heads here. If you have any bright ideas, now would be the time!"

"_Galactica_, this is Apollo." Lee didn't have any ideas at all, and his frustration had long since gotten the better of him. "Dad, we're being eaten alive out here. Maybe it's time to cut and run … leave Cain to her own devices."

"No, son; we can't do that. Cain has the jump coordinates for the fleet. We can't let this fight spill over among the civvies … we have to finish it, here and now." Adama cut the connection.

"Mr. Gaeta," he barked, "bring the FTL's on line; helm … all ahead full!"

"_Dad, what are you doing?"_ Lee was on the edge of panic because he had a pretty good idea what his father was planning. _My gods … he's going to ram her!_

. . .

Cain looked up at the DRADIS screen, but her vision was blurred. _A concussion,_ she concluded. _The last hit took more out of me than I thought._

"Mr. Curtis, give me an update on the baseship."

"Yes, Ma'am. _Galactica_ has maneuvered into position to screen the rebels, but if we continue on our present course for one more minute and then execute a hard turn to port, we can target the baseship with our forward guns while delivering a broadside to _Galactica's _port batteries."

"Is Adama currently within range of our port turrets?"

"Yes, Ma'am … comfortably so."

"Then continue firing. Helm, come left sixty degrees, and all ahead full. Take us down _Galactica's_ throat!"

. . .

"Eight, fire everything we've got at their starboard landing pod … _fire it now!_"

For the first time in her life, Natalie Faust sensed that she was close to panic. The drama that she was following in the stream had shaken her so badly that she could now appreciate what humans meant when they talked about the acid taste of fear. She could taste the bile.

Adama had twice changed her course, the maneuver once again positioning _Galactica_ to shield the baseship from _Pegasus'_ heavy guns, but neither Bill Adama nor Helena Cain had been content to leave it at that. The two battlestars were now heading straight for one another, the two admirals playing chicken—only this wasn't like the movie that Natalie had seen back on Virgon. There the charismatic and sensuously handsome star of _Nowhere Else to Go_ had walked away from the deadly game that drew alienated youths to the high cliffs of Canceron. No, this was real life … and in the real world the film star had died horribly on a lonely stretch of Leonis highway, neither driver willing to yield the point of honor. Since battlestars didn't turn on a cubit, Natalie realized that Cain and Adama were rapidly approaching a similar point of no return— beyond which lay shattered hulls and extinguished lives. With each passing second, she could feel the mantle of responsibility for the fleet shifting … settling onto her shoulders … _and it was crushing her_.

Natalie rushed to the new communications console that was tied into _Galactica's_ CIC.

_This is no time to stand on ceremony, _she decided.

"D'Anna, this is Natalie. I want to speak with Adama _now_!"

D'Anna Biers looked up. "Excuse me, Admiral, but Natalie wishes to speak with you. It's urgent."

"Actual."

"_Bill, what are you doing? For the love of God, turn away! Alter your course before it's too late!" _

"Natalie, this is the only way to take _Pegasus_ down … the only way to save the fleet. I'm ordering you to get clear and stay clear. Now, go!"

At the navigation console, the Six was frantically spinning the ship while simultaneously laboring to keep it at least partially out of _Galactica's _shadow. At tactical, the Eight was racing to reload the forty-four remaining missile turrets on the trailing dorsal. She no longer had the luxury of subtlety. She had eighteen nukes at her disposal, and she was going to use them all. _Anything, _she desperately thought; _anything to keep Galactica from committing suicide._

D'Anna was bent over the communications station. She briefly nodded, and then she looked up to address Natalie.

"Sister, our son has boarded _Pegasus_. He's going to try and find Cain. He plans to assassinate her."

"_In the CIC?_" Natalie Faust thought that the entire universe had gone mad.

"Where's the Raptor?" The Eight could no longer blindly fire off her missiles.

"John has docked at the starboard secondary storage bay immediately forward of the engine room."

Natalie turned to the Eight. "Target everything of value on the starboard side, amidships and forward."

"On it," the Eight curtly replied. _Now let's see if the hybrid will risk her brother's life._

. . .

John Bierns bobbed and weaved, and ducked and rolled. He had to stay out of two firing solutions, which wasn't particularly difficult because for all intents and purposes they were one and the same. He was trying to make a portside approach in order to avoid interfering with the baseship's missile salvos, but he was also trying to avoid becoming an easy target for one of Cain's Vipers. Raiders, Heavy Raiders and Vipers were dueling all around him. He had shut down his onboard and running lights as well as the transponder, reasoning that both sides would consider him one of their own—a wounded bird whose communications had been shot to hell.

After what seemed an eternity, the spook brought his Raptor beneath _Pegasus_ and rolled up to her starboard side. Looking through the canopy, he could see a spectacular fireworks display unfolding around the landing pod. Flak was streaming out of the secondary batteries, but some of the Eight's missiles were nevertheless reaching their targets. One warhead detonated on the thick hull plating that roofed the pod, while a second tore into one of the three support pylons that anchored it in place. _Pegasus_ shrugged off both explosions and continued to advance on _Galactica_.

Although the missile strikes were proving ineffectual, John reckoned that he could still put them to good use. He made hard seal outside the secondary storage bay, and then patiently waited for a third missile to hammer the hull and mask his entrance. He didn't have to wait long. . . .

Bierns opened the inner hatch, and peeked out into the corridor. It was empty, which was exactly as it should be: everyone in the crew was at battle stations, not out wandering the decks. The spook turned back to his two robotic companions.

"Do you know what Gaius Baltar looks like?"

Both centurions held up a single talon. _Yes._

"Okay. Brothers, I would like you to make for the CIC. Stir up as much chaos and confusion as you can, but avoid firefights with the marines if at all possible. Keep moving, and try and make it back here in thirty-five minutes because we are off this ship in forty. Please do not shoot Doctor Baltar or the Six."

The two machines headed off down the corridor to the right. Turning left, John Bierns headed directly for the engine room. He pulled out one of the MP16R's and threaded the silencer into place as he walked.

There were two marines guarding the hatchway, and he did not even break stride as he shot them both in the head. Cycling the hatch, John cautiously peeked inside. He spotted the chief engineer, and three other technicians. They were scattered around the huge chamber, so the spook decided to make his entrance with a fragmentation grenade. The explosion ripped three of the men to shreds, and it stunned the fourth. Bierns shot him in the back of the head, quickly laid his traps, and headed for the gantry way that would grant him access to the portside FTL's.

. . .

"Admiral, fire alarms are going off in the engine room, and the sensors are picking up a spike in CO2 emissions."

"Thank you, Mr. Kelso. Captain Shaw, send a fire control team to the engine room." Helena Cain frowned in puzzlement. "Mr. Riley … did the missile strikes on our FTL's set off a cascade failure?"

"No, Ma'am; this is something else."

_Pegasus_ dipped violently, and Cain once again crashed to the deck. With the two battlestars closing on reciprocal bearings and caroms, there was no way for either ship's forward batteries to miss. Both vessels were taking a pounding. Cain could only hope that the aged _Galactica_ was getting the worst of it.

"Mr. Hoshi, dispatch a marine fire team to the engine room, and sound the intruder alert. We may have company. Mr. Curtis, how much time do we have before we collide with _Galactica?"_

"About fifty seconds, Admiral."

"Launch Orange Squadron, and tell them to get clear."

. . .

Bierns crushed the ends of three timer pencils under his heel, and inserted one into the plastic explosive that he had already affixed to the FTL. He triggered the stopwatch function on his watch, and raced along the gantry to the second jump drive. He had twelve minutes to rig the explosives and get clear, but the business was trickier than it looked because he wanted to mangle the housing as well as destroy the FTL itself. He had bought himself additional time by booby trapping the entrance to the engine room with a live grenade. It was a very dirty trick, but it would eliminate the damage control team that Cain would undoubtedly rush to the scene—and that would slow down any further pursuit. The marines who followed up would advance at a snail's pace, but if they happened to brush the trip wire that he had attached to the pins on another pair of grenades, they wouldn't be advancing at all.

When he was finished, John yanked the grating off the entrance to a ventilation shaft, and crawled in. He had several more nasty surprises in store for Helena Cain, but freeing Gina Inviere from captivity was at the very top of the list.

. . .

"Mr. Gaeta," Adama quietly asked, "is the jump drive spooled up?"

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant replied; "we're good to go."

"And how long before we collide?"

"Forty-five seconds, Admiral."

Shelly looked at her husband curiously. "Bill, you've got something up your sleeve, haven't you?"

Adama's eyes sparkled … he did indeed have something up his sleeve. "This isn't a suicide run, Shelly. "I'm not going to let you lose the baby."

"Mr. Gaeta, give me the jump key. Continue monitoring the DRADIS, and tell me when we are five seconds from impact."

The admiral walked over to the console and began to enter jump coordinates—a fifteen digit string. _If this works,_ he softly chuckled, _Helena Cain is going to get the biggest surprise of her life!_

"Thirty seconds," Gaeta intoned.

. . .

"Thirty seconds to impact," the Six noted. "But I don't understand. Natalie, Admiral Adama has spooled up his jump drive." The puzzlement was plain in her voice.

"_Pegasus_ is turning to starboard … heading right for us," she added.

Natalie breathed a deep sigh of relief—Helena Cain was a chicken after all.

"Withdraw," she ordered; "get us out of here, and make all possible speed." Natalie glanced at Leoben. "I've got a really bad feeling about this."

The Two looked at her with open fascination. "A premonition," he asked.

The Six at the navigation console blinked twice; she could barely credit what she was seeing in the stream.

"Natalie, _Galactica_ has also turned … to port. Dear God … Adama is going to ram her amidships!"

. . .

The grenade detonated, and the shrapnel eviscerated five of the seven men in the damage control party.

. . .

"Thirty seconds," Admiral.

"Thank you, Mr. Curtis. Helm, bring us twenty degrees to starboard."

"Admiral …" Petty Officer Curtis was frowning, trying to decipher the meaning of what his instruments were telling him.

"Sir, Adama is spooling up his FTL's."

"_What?"_

"And he's turning to port! Admiral … he's going to cut across our course!"

"DRADIS contact," Kendra Shaw screamed. "Two … no, make it three … baseships have just come out of jump! They're inbound at high speed!"

The muffled sound of an explosion could be heard in the background, and Hoshi's phone began almost instantly to buzz.

"Keep all remaining port batteries trained on _Galactica_," Cain ordered. "Fire, and keep on firing! Helm, take us down; this is an emergency dive."

"Admiral," Hoshi interrupted, "Marine One reports that a booby trap has taken out the fire control team. Centurions have also been spotted on Causeway Alpha forward of frame 34. We've been boarded."

"Mr. Hoshi, get a full tactical team up here on the double. Send additional teams to the Secondary Damage and Auxiliary Fire Control stations. Recall all Vipers and Raptors … combat landings authorized. Captain Shaw, input the rendezvous jump coordinates … we're getting out of here!"

. . .

"_What the frak?" _Cavil was immersed in the stream, but the data being relayed by the hybrid were so bizarre that he wanted someone else to confirm them. Cavil glanced over at one of the Simons.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"It would appear," the Four studiously replied, "that _Galactica_ and _Pegasus_ are shooting at each other."

"And the baseship is tossing missiles around like nuts at Saturnalia," Cavil sarcastically added.

"We need to contact the Old Man," Boomer suggested. "We should offer our assistance."

"We should do no … such … thing!" Cavil gave the Eight a look that communicated in no uncertain terms his conviction that she had taken leave of her senses.

"Cavil, what is the matter with you?" Caprica Six was more convinced than ever that she was dealing with a small and fractious child. "Adama fell in love with a Cylon, and we all know Cain's history. They're fighting about us, Cavil; isn't it obvious? Shelly has built a bridge between man and machine, and Cain is trying to destroy everything that she's accomplished."

"I know," Cavil smirked. "That's what makes the moment so delicious. The last two battlestars in the universe are going at it hammer and tong, and all because Commander Adama went and fell in love with a Six. I must confess that I never expected the infiltration program to reap such rich dividends, but there you have it."

Cavil sighed contentedly. "Brothers and sisters, it doesn't get any sweeter than this. It's time to break out the lemonade and the lawn chairs!"

Caprica Six looked at him with open disgust, and walked around the central console to stand at D'Anna's side.

"Three, open a channel. I want to speak with Commander Adama."

"No! You will do no … such … thing!"

"Brother, let it go." One of Cavil's siblings looked at him meaningfully, and then quietly slipped out of the chamber.

. . .

"DRADIS contact," Gaeta yelled. "Three Cylon baseships … bearing 468, carom 43 … range 1150; they're closing the range fast!"

"Oh, great," Saul Tigh groaned. "That's just what we need … a bunch of party crashers."

"Ignore them, Mr. Gaeta," the admiral ordered. "Continue with the count-down. Saul, keep tweaking our course; I want to take them amidships."

"Twenty seconds, Admiral."

Dualla looked up in surprise and turned to address the XO. "Colonel, I have one of the Cylon baseships on the line."

"Dee, pass them to me." Shelly picked up Adama's customary phone.

"This is Shelly Adama. What do you want?"

"Fifteen seconds."

"Helm, come three degrees to port …"

"Sister? This is Caprica Six …"

"Six, at the moment we're a little busy over here. But you might want to alter your course." Shelly hung up the phone.

"All hands, this is the XO. Stand by for emergency jump."

"Ten … nine … eight … seven … six … five … four …"

Adama twisted the key. _Galactica_ was two kilometers to port of _Pegasus_ when the battered old ship, her forward batteries now nothing more than blobs of molten metal, began to jump. Space turned inside out, and the spatial disruption blossomed across the face of Helena Cain's port landing pod. Massive sheets of armor plating were ripped off the hull and sucked into space. Electrical systems short circuited and fires erupted like geysers, feeding on the atmosphere that was venting out of the hull breaches. The pod began to cave in upon itself, crumpling like an empty beer can being flattened under foot. Sixty-four members of the crew were killed outright; another twenty-two would die slower and more agonizing deaths, trapped inside isolated pockets of air that finally, inevitably, would give out.

_Galactica's_ footprint was enormous. The energy storm unleashed by her jump expanded, surging against _Pegasus' _port flank. The twin turreted batteries were reduced to unrecognizable lumps of twisted steel, and more of the heavy armor plating exploded into surrounding space. Thirty-one compartments were exposed to vacuum, and another 213 crewmen and women died. The last of the Mercury class battlestars was being hammered from without—and two Cylon centurions and the first born of the hybrid children were about to inflict equally grievous wounds from within.


	26. Chapter 26: Purgatory

CHAPTER 26

PURGATORY

"_He married her?"_ The Eight was making a valiant effort to digest the revelation, but her brain was having a hard time fighting its way past _"does not compute."_ She looked at Boomer. "Commander Adama married one of our sisters? I mean, he did know that Shelly Godfrey is cylon, right?"

Sharon Valerii smiled sympathetically. The news didn't surprise her in the least. "He's known from the beginning, and he doesn't care. He loves her."

Sharon glanced at Cavil. "Adama fell in love with a person," she remarked pointedly, "not with a machine. He fell in love with a warm, intelligent, emotionally complex woman who treats everyone around her with kindness and consideration. Of course he married her. That's what humans do when they fall in love … they wed, and the best relationships endure for a lifetime."

"_Galactica _has jumped," one of the Simons advised, "and it was very close to _Pegasus_ when it did so. That's interesting. Adama was apparently trying to suck Pegasus into the event horizon."

"Did he succeed," Doral asked. "Is _Pegasus_ still in one piece?"

"We cannot accurately assess the damage at this range, but …"

"_Galactica_ has just reemerged from jump," one of the Sixes at the navigation console exclaimed in surprise. "Adama is less than three hundred kilometers from his previous position. _Pegasus_ is neatly trapped between _Galactica _and the rebel baseship."

"_What? _That lieutenant … what's his name? Gaeta? He must have made a computational error. No human can calculate jumps so precisely." Cavil refused to believe that such inferior beings could pull off so astonishing a feat.

"I disagree, brother. Felix wouldn't make an error of that magnitude, but in any case he has Shelly and at least one other Six in the CIC double-checking his calculations." Boomer's loyalty to her family on _Galactica _ran deep; the other Cylons could hear the pride in her voice as she defended her former shipmates.

"Don't underestimate Adama," Boomer added. "We should all keep in mind that Natalie previously used precision microjumps to destroy three baseships in three different battles, and now we've lost an entire fleet, including two more baseships. What Natalie knows, Adama knows."

"That's what I don't understand," D'Anna confessed. "No Cylon has the mathematical awareness to calculate such precise jumps, but Adama wasn't present at Caprica. How does Natalie do it?"

"Why don't we ask her," Caprica suggested. "Three, contact the rebels. Let's see if Natalie will talk with us. Perhaps she'll divulge something useful. In the meantime, let's keep our distance. If Adama doesn't see us as an immediate threat he may well ignore us – and we definitely want to stay clear of Natalie's logic bombs."

. . .

Natalie Faust was stunned, and in the control room of the battered rebel baseship, she had plenty of company. Adama's heroic charge into the teeth of Helena Cain's guns had struck them all as an openly suicidal gesture. No one had anticipated the last second jump, much less the scale of the damage that it would inflict upon Cain's command. Adama's tactic was deadly- remarkably so- and unfortunately the hostile Cylons had arrived on the scene just in time to witness it. Natalie had no idea how much damage her baseship might suffer if a Raider or Heavy Raider jumped somewhere close to the hull, but she had a nasty feeling that the day might come when they would all find out.

"Eight, do we have anything left to throw at _Pegasus_?"

The Eight, who had adopted the name Miranda to make it easier for the humans to distinguish her from her sisters, grinned wickedly. "Oh," she admitted, "I still have a few missiles up my sleeve!"

Natalie groaned inwardly. _Heavenly Father, spare us all. There's only one way for a Six or an Eight to pick up so many human mannerisms, never mind the often peculiar expressions that litter human speech. I wonder which pilot this Eight has taken to her bed._

"_Galactica_ is turning," Leoben announced, "and it's not to confront the baseships. He's still going after Cain. He appears to be settling in for a stern chase."

"We can complicate matters for her," Natalie observed. "Cain still has a nasty bite on her starboard side; so, let's keep pounding away at the surviving twin mounts. If we can shut them down and finish off the flak batteries, she'll have to recall her Vipers to deploy a perimeter defense."

The Eight unleashed another flurry of missiles while the Six working the navigation console concentrated on rolling the ship. The Six had been closely studying Adama's tactics, and now she was putting them to effective use. She had discovered that the massive lateral arms of the Cylon vessel could minimize the punishment that _Pegasus'_ heavy guns was still dishing out if the arms were in motion and the projectiles striking home at oblique angles.

"Natalie," D'Anna wryly commented, "we are in the presence of illustrious company. Caprica Six wishes to speak with you."

Natalie raised an eyebrow, and then transferred her gaze to Leoben.

"They're standing off, six hundred kilometers out." The Two looked at her curiously. He couldn't imagine what Natalie would have to say to the principal instrument of humanity's destruction. The two Sixes had ended up on radically divergent paths.

Leoben continued to study the stream even as he waited for Natalie's response. "_Galactica _has just fired off another missile salvo … he must want Cain's FTL's very, very badly. And Cain isn't going gently into the night—we have ten of her missiles inbound. She's targeting the central axis."

"Are the Raiders in place?"

"Yes. We should be safe … at least for now. Cain appears to have recalled her Vipers, but they are withdrawing in an orderly fashion. They have been steadily thinning our numbers, so the squadrons that are still out there pose a significant threat. If we can't force her to disengage, we should prepare to do so ourselves. I recommend that we spool up the FTL's and notify the admiral that we are making ready to jump back to the fleet."

"I agree," Natalie answered. "See to it, Leoben. D'Anna, let's find out what Caprica wants. Give me a connection to both her and _Galactica_. The Admiral may wish to eavesdrop."

. . .

"Colonel Tigh, what have we got left up front, if anything at all?"

Saul grinned sheepishly at Bill. "Sir, I think it's fair to say that we don't even have a front end anymore!"

Adama laughed. "It's that bad, is it?"

The XO laughed as well. "Bill, we caught a break here. At least now we won't have to worry about Galen Tyrol moaning and groaning about all the dents his deck crew will have to hammer out."

Shelly looked at the two men in confusion. "Why are the two of you laughing? Our forward batteries are gone. We have no point defense. What's so funny?"

Bill and Saul looked at one another, and then they both started laughing helplessly.

"Shelly," the XO was finally able to choke out, "it's what we humans call gallows humor. We're both just so gods damned happy that we're still alive after Bill's crazy-assed stunt that right now everything seems funny."

"Excuse me, Admiral," Dee politely interjected. "Apollo wants to speak with you."

Still trying to control his laughter, Adama picked up his phone. "Go ahead, Apollo."

"Dad, couldn't you have told us what you were planning? Every pilot out here just aged twenty years."

"I couldn't take a chance, son. We don't know who's listening in on this frequency."

"Well, you'll like the results. The whole port side of _Pegasus_ is sort of … mashed in. Of course, _Galactica_ no longer has a bow. Have you checked the forward sensor array? Is it still working?"

Bill put his hand over the mouthpiece. "Mr. Gaeta, check the forward sensor array."

"There's no need, sir," the lieutenant replied. "It's not there anymore. Even the auxiliaries are gone."

Adama nodded, and resumed his conversation with Lee. "Apollo? Mr. Gaeta reports that we have no eyes up front. We'll need a Viper to eliminate the blind spot; assign someone from Blue squadron to cover for us."

The admiral glanced up at the DRADIS display, which was noticeably less cluttered than it had been a few minutes earlier.

"Lee, it looks like Cain is calling her birds back to the nest. If they want to disengage, don't pursue."

"Roger that, _Galactica_," Apollo replied. "We're down almost ninety Raiders, plus we've lost seven more Vipers and Heavy Raiders. And now we've got an audience. Dad, why aren't they attacking?"

"I don't know, son. Maybe they find this all terribly amusing. I know I would if the shoe was on the other foot. Just go on watching your six … all of you … stay sharp out there."

"Helm, bring us about. Mr. Gaeta, give me a bearing on _Pegasus_. Colonel Tigh, load missiles in tubes four through thirteen. Input the bearing, and fire at your discretion."

"Yes, sir!"

"Sharon, I want both port and starboard damage assessments. Perform a status check on all surviving gun batteries."

"Sir."

"Admiral," D'Anna interrupted, "Natalie is on the line. She has another Hero of the Cylon calling her, and she would like you to listen in."

"Thank you, D'Anna; please put her on speaker."

"Go ahead, sister."

. . .

"Caprica, what do you want," Natalie asked wearily.

"Sister, you seem to be having a most interesting day, but we know from experience that Admiral Cain is not to be taken lightly. Do you and Commander Adama require assistance?"

"Putting one lousy battlestar out of its misery?" Natalie's tone was deliberately incredulous. "I don't think so, but it's not my call. Why don't you ask _Admiral _Adama? He's my superior officer."

"You're part of the Colonial Fleet?" Now it was Caprica's turn to sound incredulous.

"We are," Natalie replied matter of factly. "Six, there are over three hundred Cylons living and working on _Galactica_, and there are scores of humans living on this ship. We have been intermarrying for quite some time, and our first children will be born in a matter of weeks. They will be Colonial citizens, and it is my hope that all of us will achieve citizenship at some point as well. President Roslin has been a staunch advocate of our rights from the beginning."

Natalie sighed heavily. "I just hope that what we discovered earlier today on the three Colonial vessels hasn't ruined everything."

"The breeding experiments," Caprica conceded. "Not our finest hour … and something that upset a lot of us when we found out about them."

"Breeding experiments," Natalie snorted. "Is that a euphemism for the ongoing torture and rape of human prisoners?"

"Six, I'm not defending what the Ones, the Fours … and yes, even the Sixes … have been doing. But you know how badly we want children…"

"Oh, please," Natalie cut in, "try telling that to the forty-two women whom we freed on the _Arethusa_—_after_ we removed their chains and broke into their kennels. You try coming over here and rationalizing all of this to young women who are so emotionally traumatized that we had to sedate fully half of them when they learned that their rescuers were Cylons … that their place of refuge was a baseship. Breeding experiments," Natalie said contemptuously.

Caprica winced with embarrassment. "The Ones have a lot to answer for," she admitted, "but not in the middle of a battle against a skilled and dangerous opponent. Sister, please tell the Admiral that we stand ready to assist you both."

"Admiral, what do you think?" Natalie wanted to end this discussion. Her faith in her fellow Cylons had long since vanished. She didn't trust Caprica … she didn't trust any of them. And she still had a battle to manage … she didn't need this distraction. She looked hard at Leoben.

"The Raiders intercepted all of the missiles," he whispered. "And we're ready to make the jump."

"Why would you want to help us at the eleventh hour?" Adama had listened silently to what in other circumstances would have undoubtedly been a fascinating exchange, but his attention was elsewhere. Cain was too dangerous to leave alive, and he couldn't simply leave it to John Bierns to try and carry out Roslin's death warrant. One way or another, he needed to end this. Whatever the Cylons were up to, they would just have to wait.

"Didn't Cavil tell you? Enough of us have had second thoughts about the war to forge a new consensus. We desire peace … an end to the cycles of violence that have beset man and machine. I'm offering you our help because it's time for us to come home. Admiral, to remain apart is to guarantee that fear and hatred will forever divide us. To have any chance at all, we have to work together. This is a good place to start."

"Bill, may I talk to her?" Shelly had a very determined look on her face.

"Madame Ambassador, I take it you have something up your sleeve," he chuckled.

"Well," Shelly smiled, "now that you mention it, I do intend to draw upon my formidable diplomatic skills and many hours of negotiating experience. After fencing with you for several months, dealing with another Six should be child's play!"

"Madame Ambassador … she's all yours. Natalie and I have a battle to win, and we need to get back to it." Adama walked off to Sharon Agathon's station. He couldn't close the range and take the fight to Cain until he found out what he had left in the cupboard. He just hoped that it wasn't bare.

"Caprica, this is Shelly. My husband has asked me to represent him, and before you say anything I want you to understand where my loyalties lie. I love my husband, and I'm carrying his child. _Galactica_ is my home, not the collective, and I will defend my home and my family with every weapon at my disposal. I will listen to whatever you have to say, but my only standard of judgment is what's good for this fleet … for this alliance. So, choose your words carefully."

"_You're pregnant?" _Caprica didn't bother looking around the control room; she knew how the other Cylons would be reacting.

"Yes, and I'm by no means alone. I haven't experienced morning sickness yet, but it seems to be hitting Creusa abnormally hard. I suppose that my day will come."

"_Creusa? Creusa? How did Creusa get pregnant?" _This was beyond belief.

Laughter erupted throughout the CIC. Creusa had become something of an icon on _Galactica's _decks; her colorfully inventive curses, and the highly public way in which she kept flinging them at Lee Adama, now threatened to topple Starbuck from her lofty position atop one of the battlestar's most coveted perches. Even the ambitious (some might say, jealous) Louanne Katraine had had to withdraw from this particular pissing contest. Starbuck's bad mouth and generally snarky attitude were still unmatched, but the Six was exhibiting real potential.

"Well, it didn't involve a breeding experiment," Shelly bluntly stated. "Apollo and Creusa got there the old fashioned way. They fell in love."

"Apollo? _Lee Adama?_ We're having babies with_ both _oftheAdamas_?"_

Shelly let out a long, theatrical sigh. "Six, I'm willing to take you at face value. I would like to believe that you are sincerely intent upon peace and reconciliation. But I have to wonder if you are really ready to embrace the life that we have to offer you. We don't have slaves over here. The Raiders and the centurions fight alongside us out of choice and conviction, not compulsion. We got rid of the telencephalic inhibitors months ago. Are you ready to do that? You had better be, because that's part of the price of admission. John and Kara will settle for nothing less."

Shelly paused. She wanted to manipulate Caprica into pursuing a certain course of action, but she couldn't afford to be too obvious.

"Are you prepared," she continued, "to treat the hybrid as a sentient being rather than a witless machine? Can you respect her autonomy, and grant her a voice in your deliberations? We wouldn't dream of doing anything consequential without talking it over with Reun—and that was before we discovered that, even in the womb, our children are somehow tied to her. The hybrids are all linked, Caprica. When Hera gets upset and kicks up a fuss, it's Reun and Kara who calm her down, not her mother. Hera is already sensitive to everything going on around her, and yet Sharon is only approaching the end of her second trimester. I would imagine that Creusa and I will experience the same thing when Cyrene and Callista become aware."

Cavil casually strolled over to the central console. "Six," he asked, "is Sharon by any chance the Eight we fixed up with Lieutenant Agathon on Caprica?"

"Yes," Shelly conceded. "She is now Mrs. Sharon Agathon."

"Well, then," Cavil sarcastically observed, "I guess at least one of our breeding experiments turned out to everybody's satisfaction!" He stormed off.

Caprica decided to stall. She wanted her brothers and sisters to follow Shelly's remarks down one particular path, but she couldn't afford to be too obvious. It would be better if someone else took the lead. _Come on Boomer … swallow the bait!_

"Shelly, you said Reun and Kara. What did you mean? What does Kara Thrace have to do with the hybrid … with our baby?"

"Boomer, is that you? It's so good to hear your voice …"

"Kara Thrace," one of the Twos said with rising impatience. "Tell us about Kara Thrace."

"Oh, that's right … none of you would know. She's not Kara Thrace. Kara is the Second Born of the prophecies … our daughter—and she prefers to be called Kara Six. You know, Caprica, you really do need to go off and get your house in order. There have been other experiments, other babies. John doesn't know the whole story, but the Cavils do. Maybe you can persuade them to share their secrets. But we definitely do not need or want your help here. Perhaps the irony of destroying one of the last battlestars as part of a peace overture is lost on you. Good bye, Caprica."

"Shelly, wait! Please," Caprica begged, "tell us about John. Is he safe? Are the children safe?"

"_Safe?"_ Shelly didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Right now," she said in a ragged voice, "our First Born is somewhere on _Pegasus_. He's determined to kill Cain before her madness destroys us all. That's the first option, but if he can't reach Cain, he'll take _Pegasus _down. D'Anna's child is the Deliverer, Caprica, and to save our future he will do whatever he has to do. May God have mercy on the souls of all those who must die this day to realize that future, but most of all on the soul of Helena Cain. She's our flesh and blood, sister; the Sixes … the Sixes are copies of either Helena or her younger sister, Lucy Cain."

"I'm trying to kill a woman who may very well be my mother," Shelly went on to whisper in a voice laced with unbearable pain. "Do you begin to comprehend the scale of our tragedy?"

Shelly nodded to Anastasia Dualla, who gently severed the connection.

. . .

There was the sound of gunfire in the distance, but John Bierns tried to block it out. It was the corridor immediately beyond the entrance to the ventilation shaft that interested him, and here he could detect no sound at all. No breathing … no hushed whispers … nothing.

Bierns squinted through the grill, his eyes taking in as much of the corridor as he could manage, but that was precious little. _Frak it,_ he finally thought; _I might as well just do it._

Bierns eased the grate onto the deck as quietly as he could, and slithered out of the shaft. The corridor was empty, the sound of battle echoing from far away.

Bierns stood up and walked over to the small arms locker. He pulled out his electronic ferret, and quickly got to work with the tiny screwdriver recessed in its rear panel. It took him less than ninety seconds to remove the cover on the electronic lock, crack the digital code, and break into the supposedly secure weapons cache.

He could tell at a glance that the marines had been here first. Empty boxes that had once held shells were scattered haphazardly across the floor; whoever had most recently entered, he decided, had been in one hell of a hurry.

But John Bierns wasn't after ammunition. He located the four small cases and opened their lids. Thirty-two detonators stared mutely back at him. He still had enough G-4 on his person for at least a dozen shaped charges, but the delayed timing mechanism on the detonators would allow him to set off explosions calculated not to the minute but to the second. The locker would do for a start. The spook removed a brick-shaped wad of G-4 from a pouch cinched to his waist, and set the timer for four minutes. There were enough volatiles in the locker to guarantee a spectacular explosion.

Silenced MP16R in hand, John Bierns headed off in the direction of the brig. He suspected that Gina Inviere would very much enjoy playing this particular game.

. . .

"Would somebody puh-lese disable that frakking alarm," Cain yelled. The klaxon had already added a splitting headache to her earlier concussion.

"Excuse me, Admiral," Hoshi protested, "but the alarm is integrated into the decompression safety alert system. We can't turn off the one without turning off the other."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Now, turn it off!"

Hoshi hastened to comply.

"Mr. Kelso, status check on the port damage control panel."

"Admiral, everything forward of frame twelve is gone. This includes the landing pod and all primary and secondary gun batteries. We've lost the whole of the sensor suite; essentially, we're blind along the entirety of our port flank. Thirty-one compartments are open to space; casualties … unknown at this time."

"Mr. Hoshi, tell Stinger that we need to go mark one eyeball portside, but I want to expedite combat landings to starboard. Keep Gold and Silver in reserve off our stern, but get everybody else in the barn ASAP."

"Let's do it by the numbers, people." Kendra Shaw clapped her hands to get Hoshi's attention. "Red and Blue teams have been out there from the beginning, Lieutenant, so let's bring them in first."

"Admiral, we have missiles inbound on two different tracks. The baseship is on bearing 005, no carom … range 130. _Galactica_ is off our stern … range 300."

"_What?"_ Helena Cain swiftly glanced at her DRADIS screen. She shook her head in consternation. _Where the hell did Galactica come from?_

"Mr. Riley, do we still have flak suppression capability to starboard?"

"Affirmative, Admiral; we can still knock down some of the Cylon incoming. And four of the six twins are still firing, although two of them are hobbled."

"Very good. Helm, bring us hard to port and set course 235. Mr. Hoshi, advise Spike that he has missiles incoming; he's to knock them down if he can, but I don't want any heroic gestures out there." _That should take care of Adama's missiles. "_Mr. Curtis, have all starboard batteries concentrate their fire on any one of the lateral arms; disarm the launch safeties on tubes seven through sixteen, target the central axis, and fire at your discretion." Cain peppered the CIC with orders; her command had taken a severe hit, but _Pegasus_ still had plenty of fight left in her.

"Mr. Hoshi," she asked more quietly, "how long?"

"Almost four minutes, Admiral. Everything's off the deck, and with only the starboard landing bays …"

"I understand, Mr. Hoshi; thank you."

Cain surveyed the DRADIS display. _Pegasus_ was now bearing down on the three undamaged Cylon baseships. _Four minutes,_ she mused; _I've got to find a hole where we can hide for four minutes._

"Mr. Curtis … what is the range to the nearest baseship?"

"Range 540, Admiral."

"Call it out, Mr. Curtis. Helm, at 500 come left one-third and take us down ten degrees."

"Admiral, the rebel baseship is turning away. Their FTL's have come on line; they're getting ready to jump."

"All starboard batteries," Cain ordered with a distinct sigh of relief, "cease fire; repeat, cease fire."

"_Galactica_ is still coming hard," Kendra Shaw warned. "Adama can't have any forward batteries left, but if he gets within gun range, he can finish us off with a turn to either port or starboard."

"Thank you, Miss Shaw; keep me apprised. Mr. Curtis, what do you think? Are the Cylons all sleeping?"

"Ma'am, it would appear so."

"Well, let's not wake them. Mr. Hoshi, advise all Vipers: do not fire upon the Cylons unless fired upon."

_Pegasus_ made the turn, and began gradually to separate itself from the Cylon baseships.

Helena walked around the central console to stand beside Kendra Shaw. "What is your opinion, Captain? Can we survive a jump?"

"Admiral, our spine is intact, so we should be good for one jump, but I wouldn't be optimistic about a second. We don't know how much the lateral bearing beams have been weakened, but it would be prudent to assume the worst. I also recommend immediately evacuating all compartments along the port bulkhead that are still intact, and sealing all portside hatches along Causeway Bravo prior to jump. The one thing I am sure of, Admiral, is that not all of the ship will be coming with us."

"I concur, Miss Shaw; give the necessary orders. Mr. Hoshi, where are we on the recall?"

"Ma'am. Red and Blue teams are on the deck. We're recovering Black and White as we speak."

"Admiral," Curtis reported, "The Cylons are still dormant, but _Galactica _is continuing to close to port. Adama appears to be plotting an intercept course that is predicated upon our staying on this bearing. I recommend that we divert all remaining Vipers to the port quadrant, and begin evasive maneuvers."

"We don't have a lot of options here, Mr. Curtis." _Two and a half more minutes … just let me get us through the next two and a half minutes. _"Mr. Hoshi, rotate Silver and Gold teams to screen our port flank; begin landing Green, Purple, Yellow, and Orange. Helm, come left one-third."

"Admiral," Shaw interjected, "this course puts us in no man's land. We're going to be equally vulnerable to both port and starboard."

"That's the general idea, Captain. Now, let's get what's left of the FTL's on line. Take us around the horn."

. . .

"Admiral, _Pegasus' _remainingFTL's have just come on line. Sir, Admiral Cain is readying to jump."

"Thank you, Mr. Gaeta. Dee, get me Apollo."

"Admiral?"

"Lee, _Pegasus_ is spooling up their FTL's. We may not be able to stop her, so get Red Squadron and your Raiders back to the barn. Be prepared to deploy and defend the fleet on the other side of your jump."

"Yes, sir!"

"D'Anna, I want to speak with Natalie."

"Admiral?"

"Commander, I want you to return to the fleet as soon as Apollo has everyone on board. You're in charge until we return."

"Thank you, Admiral; we've taken about all the pounding over here that we can handle for one day. Still, I hope you're not planning on doing something foolish. The poison pill that Shelly just dropped in their laps will keep the Cylons preoccupied for quite some time. Leoben reckons that his brothers will already be collectively slobbering all over themselves."

"I'm not giving up on _Pegasus_. I don't like abandoning Major Bierns to his fate, so _Galactica_ will fight until she can't."

. . .

"It's a trick," Doral exclaimed. "It has to be. The traitors are trying to get inside our heads … distract us with their lies. Kara Thrace must be close to thirty years old."

"We told you," one of the Leobens smugly remarked. "_We told you!_ Kara Thrace has always been special, a creature of destiny. The Second Born … the Guide … this explains so much …"

"No wonder she can fly circles around everyone else." Boomer's mind was dipping into the past … into a store of memories. "And her reflexes … her ability to crawl inside the Raider on that planetoid and fly it right off the surface. Dear God … she's a hybrid!"

"Who's John?" D'Anna's voice was soft, but it had a brittle edge. She was looking accusingly at the One. "The Six said that you have all the answers, so tell me. Who is the First Born? Who is our son?"

"Hey, don't ask me," Cavil snidely countered. "I just work here, and I don't have any dark secrets to share with you or anybody else."

"It has to be," Boomer murmured. She was oblivious to them all, her mind still racing through her memories. _I was standing outside the brig, trying to comprehend how my two sisters on the other side of the bars could have killed billions and yet look so untroubled … so innocent. John came up and put his arm around me, so full of concern; he explained that guilt is a possession, and that it belongs only to those with a conscience … with a moral compass. He was always so caring. Oh, John, why didn't you say something? You could have pulled me away from the edge of the abyss. Why didn't you try?_

Sharon Valerii looked up, her mind returning to the present. There were tears in her eyes … there had been so many tears.

"His name is John Bierns." D'Anna recoiled as if she had been slapped in the face. "His name is spelled B-I-E-R-N-S. Isn't that cute?"

Boomer suddenly turned on Cavil. "Tell me, brother," she asked reproachfully, "how would he have come by such a name? Who would have given it to him?"

Cavil extended both arms, palms outward. It was as if he was trying to ward off some imminent threat, but whether it was Sharon or the litany of her accusations that posed the danger no one could tell.

"He's out there right now," D'Anna moaned; "our son … _he's so close_." The longing in her voice was unmistakable, and it shook the others. The Threes seemed so devoid of feeling that it was hard to credit them with a maternal impulse.

"We have to help him," she said decisively.

"How?" The Four had been silently observing the others, digesting the revelations and insights that were now so rapidly piling one on top of the other. But Simon was a pragmatist.

"What can we do that won't make the situation worse?"

D'Anna looked at him helplessly. "Something, anything …"

"_Pegasus_ has just jumped," one of the Sixes announced in a subdued voice.

In the distance, they could all suddenly hear the rhythmic sound of gunfire.

. . .

"They've jumped, sir," Gaeta apologetically announced.

Adama slammed his fist hard against the console. He didn't like failure, and this one could cost them dearly. He couldn't bear to look at D'Anna, couldn't bear to see the pain in her eyes.

"Mr. Gaeta, recall our birds and lay in coordinates for our jump back to the fleet. Colonel Tigh, make all departments ready."

. . .

The ship had come alive. He could sense its awareness in the bulkheads, and he wondered momentarily whether it resented his presence. Did _Pegasus _know that he had come here to kill it? Would it betray him to the others in order to preserve its tortured existence?

John Bierns mentally kicked himself in the ass. _Just what I need,_ he thought, _another layer of guilt to add to all the others. Get over it. It's a ship … nothing else … just a ship. What you're really trying to do is avoid the inconvenient fact that not everyone on this ship is a monster. They don't all deserve to die, but they're going to—the good, the bad, the indifferent, you're going to send them all to Hades._

John was slowly but steadily working his way forward and down, and he was hugging the starboard side all the way. Whatever Bill Adama had done, it had caused pandemonium, and the barely contained panic had led to a frenzy of activity to port.

He could no longer hear the sound of gunfire- the centurions were too far above him- and he had felt rather than heard the series of explosions that obliterated the small arms locker and the three FTL's. _Pegasus_ was dying, and he couldn't shake the sensation that the once sleek battlestar knew it.

Ghostrider finally reached the brig, and he banished the trail of death that stretched behind him from his consciousness. He had avoided contact with the marines, but fleet personnel had not been so lucky. He had stumbled across three different work parties, all of them armed but not really expecting trouble. He had left them all dead in his wake.

Bierns felt the ship jump, and he knew that neither Bill nor Natalie would be coming to the rescue. It was down to two centurions, a hybrid—and one exceedingly vengeful Cylon.

John spun the wheel, and kicked the hatch open. There were two marines in the corridor; the silenced MP16R made short work of them both. The two bodies dropped with a thud. In the tiny office Lieutenant Alistair Thorne, who had been monitoring the Cylon prisoner via a remote video feed, was just rising to his feet to check out the odd noise when Bierns walked in and shot him in the head. He grabbed the lieutenant's ID badge and headed toward the cells.

So far the penetration exercise had gone off without a hitch, but that was as it should be. It was only in the contrived fictional world of the action thriller that the insertion carried much risk. Sentries were rarely vigilant, and the more alerts their superiors called, the less watchful the guards became. Things could admittedly get messy when the vicious Cerberus watchdogs were patrolling the perimeter, but happily those hellhounds weren't prowling the corridors of _Pegasus_. The hard part was the extraction, and that still lay ahead.

Bierns now had two new problems to cope with, both of his own making. The first was the eight dead bodies that he had left on the two decks immediately above. The downside to killing people in any military installation was that they would soon be missed. People would go looking, they'd find the corpses, and they'd trigger the alarm. The killings had been unavoidable, but they would complicate his retreat.

The second difficulty was a quintessential loose end named Doctor Gaius Baltar. Civilians tended to be skittish at moments like this … excess baggage that could cause a covert operation to go badly off the rails. The spook was therefore sorely tempted to shoot Baltar in the head and be done with it, but the eccentric scientist was only in the brig because John had wanted someone from _Galactica_ to stay close to Gina Inviere. Besides, there was a way in which Baltar's heightened sense of self-preservation could be put to good use.

Gina and Gaius were already on their feet when Bierns opened the door to the cell. John was immensely relieved to see that Gina was still dressed in drab, green military fatigues. Although her height would draw attention, he hoped that the outfit would make her invisible to casual inspection.

The major took off his jacket, unclipped one of the bandoliers, and offered it to the much abused Cylon prisoner. "Ready to have some fun," he asked with a grin.

"More than ready," she answered curtly. She started to don the bandolier, but John stayed her hand.

"Under the fatigues," he directed; "it's less obvious that way."

Wordlessly, Gina took off her top, exposing her breasts to the two men. John considerately turned away, but Gaius was mesmerized by the sight. Bierns decided to use the moment to his advantage.

"Gaius, Gina and I have a job to do, and frankly, I don't want you to tag along because you'd only slow us down. We're going to hit Auxiliary Fire Control, and once that's out of commission we'll try and reach the CIC and eliminate Cain once and for all. You can stay here, where it's safe, or you can try and reach the lower of the two starboard hangar decks. That's where my Raptor's parked; it's our ticket out of here, but you've got to be there in thirty minutes. If you're not there, we'll leave without you."

John handed Gina two of the MP16R's; when he told her how many rounds the magazines contained, her eyes lit up with anticipation.

Once they were out in the corridor, Bierns led Gina away from Auxiliary Fire Control.

"John … wait," the Six said with a frown. "Auxiliary Fire Control is the other way!"

"I know, Gina. That was all hot air … something to throw Baltar off the scent … and my Raptor is docked at the secondary storage bay near the engine room. Do you know it?"

"Yes. But why did you lie to Gaius?"

"Because the good doctor will betray us about two seconds after he meets up with a _Pegasus_ marine. Count on it, Gina … Gaius Baltar has an exquisitely refined survival instinct."

Gina smiled bitterly. "He's human," she bit off.

"Yes, he is," Bierns countered. "Gaius Baltar is an arrogant, preening, narcissistic weakling who's afraid of his own shadow. He's flawed, just like every human being I've ever met … and every Cylon. Let's go."

"Where?"

"Up. There are two centurions wandering about on the upper decks, and they tend to get a bit lonely when I'm not around. Why don't you join them while I go off and make a few additions to the décor in Helena Cain's cabin? I'll catch up with you later."

"You're going to kill her." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes, I am." _The next time she goes to bed, she'll wake up in Hell. But you don't need to know that, Gina, because I'm not really sure where your loyalties lie …_

"It all comes down to a choice, Gina. It's Cain and _Pegasus_ … or a happy ending for Cylons and humans alike." He looked the Cylon squarely in the eye. "Thirty minutes, Gina; be at the Raptor in thirty minutes, or I'll leave you behind as well. And for the love of Zeus, don't let them take you alive. There's a resurrection ship within range, and several thousand Cylons who know something about love and forgiveness waiting to welcome another wayward sister home."

John Bierns turned and started to walk away, but he paused and looked back at the Six. "By the way, do you happen to remember the code for the Admiral's personal quarters?"

"88-GS-88."

"Thirty minutes, Gina." Bierns hurried off.

. . .

"Report, Captain!"

Helena Cain could barely contain her fury. Three jump engines lost to _Galactica's_ missiles was bad enough, but to lose three more to a Cylon boarding party was intolerable.

"Sir, we've lost five through seven, but it's not just the FTL's. The cowling, the struts … Admiral, the entire housing is a write-off. Before we can replace the engines, the machinists are going to have to manufacture a whole new frame. I'd estimate the time needed to complete repairs at three weeks, but that's in a fully equipped shipyard. Out here, we're looking at six weeks ... and that's best case."

"Six weeks? My gods."

"Six weeks at a minimum, sir."

"Captain, I want two fully equipped Marine fire teams in the engine room; I want them to move in. We have to protect three and four at all costs."

"I'm already on it, Admiral."

"What's the prognosis for the port landing pod?"

"No joy, Admiral. Captain Taylor did a fly-by. The pod has been reduced to scrap, which we're going to need to plug all the holes in the portside frame. We can do it, but here we're looking at another three months minimum."

"Are we still jump capable?"

"It's risky, Admiral. This last jump opened another seven compartments to space. Structural integrity is very much open to question."

"Mr. Hoshi, what's the latest on the centurions?"

"One is pinned down in the officer's mess. Sergeant Ephialtes is asking permission to use fragmentation grenades to get rid of it. A second appears to be looking for a way into the CIC, but it's avoiding a frontal assault. Lieutenant Wang is of the opinion that it's playing cat and mouse with us. We have not been able to get a fix on the others, but there have been casualties on three different decks."

"Thank you, Mr. Hoshi. Tell Sergeant Ephialtes that she's free to use whatever means she deems necessary to eliminate the threat. And tell Wang to quit pussyfooting around out there. I want that centurion reduced to spare parts."

Hoshi picked up a buzzing telephone, listened for a moment, and then caught Cain's eye.

"It's the brig, Admiral. Lieutenant Thorne and two marines are down. The Cylon prisoner has escaped."

"And Doctor Baltar?"

"He's nowhere in sight, Admiral."

"Put me on speaker, Mr. Hoshi."

"Attention, all hands … this is the Admiral. The Cylon prisoner is loose, and we are at present unable to locate Doctor Baltar. Both may be armed, and the Cylon is certainly dangerous. I want them both, preferably alive, but the alternative is acceptable. _Find them!_"

. . .

Caprica Six listened to the sound of approaching gunfire. She had seen enough centurions in action to know that they were on a killing spree, and she didn't doubt for a moment that they were doing the Ones' bidding. In theory, the collective was a radically egalitarian democracy, with each Cylon having no more influence or power than any other—but the reality was far, far different.

"Boomer, Three … come with me." Without looking back, Caprica hastened from the control room. She walked boldly up to a group of centurions standing some thirty meters down the corridor. "Is everything ready," she asked.

"Six, what's going on?" D'Anna was approaching slowly, diffidently, with Boomer at her side. In the distance, Caprica could see one of the Leobens trailing behind them.

"The Cavils have unleashed the centurions. They have secrets to protect, and now we know how far they're prepared to go. They're going to slaughter us, sister … the Twos, Threes, Sixes and Eights for sure. They'll probably spare their pet Fours and Fives, but I wouldn't even count on that. They may decide to wipe the slate clean, and replace us all with fresh copies from the Hub."

"You saw this coming." Boomer was looking at her through narrowed, appraising eyes.

"Yes. Natalie would only have turned against us for the most compelling of reasons … that's obvious, and it has always dictated my thinking. It became equally obvious that the Cavils were setting us up when they agreed to make peace with the humans."

"And now we finally know what it's all about," Leoben observed. He had caught up with them. "Breeding experiments … they've been going on for decades. Natalie stumbled upon the truth, and she switched sides … chose to fight for the children."

"That must be it," Caprica agreed. "Look, I've been quietly freeing centurions. They will fight for us, but we're badly outnumbered and we don't have much time. I have a Heavy Raider standing by; we have to get off the ship and warn the others." Caprica turned and dashed down the corridor. If they didn't get to the landing bay before the Cavils took complete control, they would suffer something far worse than permanent death. The Ones might eventually unbox them, but it would be solely for their own amusement. She knew that the bastards would try and find a failsafe way to modify her programming, and Caprica Six had no intention of spending the next thousand years on her knees with one of their members in her mouth.

"Civil war," Caprica heard D'Anna lament. "This will destroy the collective."

"Only if we get off this ship," Caprica muttered in response.

. . .

_Why didn't I try this before?_ John Bierns was hurrying along the corridor, with the determined look of a man who knew where he was going and for what purpose. _Well, that's true enough, _he thought ironically. Cain's announcement had had a dramatic effect: people were scurrying all around him, most with weapons drawn. Few of the men and women he passed spared him a second glance. He was just one more armed man on a ship teeming with armed men—and Cain hadn't singled him out. _Want to be invisible? Hide out in the open. Just blend in. _It was elementary tradecraft, but Bierns hadn't expected it to work in a self-contained environment like a battlestar.

The major reached officer's country without being challenged, and made directly for Cain's quarters. With _Pegasus_ on full alert, there was no one about; he entered Gina's access code, not expecting it to work – but the door slid silently open. Bierns entered and allowed it to glide shut behind him.

He paused for a moment, studying the weaponry on display throughout the room. _The woman's in love with death … how in the name of the gods did she ever pass the psych evaluation?_

John walked into the alcove that served as Cain's bedroom. He took out a contact detonator and jammed it into a G-4 charge. He gently slid the bomb underneath her pillow. _When Helena hits the sack … boom!_

The spook walked into the tiny bathroom, and lifted the lid on the toilet. He rigged a second bomb. _Don't forget to flush!_

Satisfied with his handiwork, John Bierns quietly exited Cain's cabin, and headed for the secondary storage bay.

. . .

Gina Inviere entered the elevated starboard landing bay, and looked around. She spotted an empty container, and hoisted it onto her left shoulder. Head lowered, she strolled casually in the direction of a tool bench alongside one of the parked Raptors. She paused just long enough to prime a fragmentation grenade, which she tossed through the open hatch. Five seconds later, the grenade detonated and the Raptor disintegrated in a fiery explosion. The orange-clad knuckle-draggers all looked up, and several of the more quick-witted raced to grab fire extinguishers. Gina fell to her knees, pretending to be injured, but in reality hugging the MP16R to her stomach. She waited until she felt a hand on her shoulder. Gina twisted. Recognition flared in the eyes of the technician, and she shot him in the gut. She recognized him as well … one of the animals who had raped her. She had recognized a lot of the men in this landing bay … that was why she was here. The centurions would just have to get along without her.

Gina switched the MP16R to full automatic, and sprayed the knuckle-draggers with one long, controlled burst. Some died instantly; others she left on the deck, writhing in agony. She hurried to the tylium pump and lifted the nozzle. She allowed several liters of the highly inflammable fuel to wash across the deck before stepping back, taking aim, and firing another burst into the spreading liquid. The volatile Viper fuel ignited; she fired again, rupturing the pump itself. A massive explosion rocked the deck, and Gina watched with satisfaction as the flames reached out for the crowded rows of Vipers, many of them already fully fueled for their next sortie. It was a scene straight out of Hell.

The intense heat was blistering her skin, but she ignored the pain. She was crouched just to the right of the entrance, waiting. Keen Cylon hearing finally caught the sound of muted voices out in the corridor. There was panic in the air; no one was quite sure what to do. She pulled out another grenade, primed it, and counted to three before tossing the grenade blindly around the corner. It went off in mid-air, instantly killing eight marines and _Pegasus_ crew. Gina stepped over the prostrate bodies and set out for the secondary storage bay, which was situated four decks up and several hundred meters distant.

. . .

Centurion 86C31D4 emitted a high speed burst on the frequency that it used to communicate with its kind. It was beyond the scale of human hearing, and therefore safe to use in this godless place. But the frequency was empty now, and so D4 concluded that the One True God had called D6 home.

The centurion reviewed its instructions and weighed its options. The First Born had asked it to advance on the human command center, but at the same time to avoid conflict with the human warriors. It could not carry out both commands, and the contradiction was introducing novel patterns into the electronic flux that flowed through its circuitry.

The irregular flux was no longer as disconcerting as it had once been. When centurion 86C31D4 initially realized that the First Born served the One True God yet did not believe in Him, the data transfer had been interrupted for 0.18356/seconds. In contrast, the current conundrum required only 0.00418/seconds to resolve. Centurion 86C31D4 would withdraw from the ship entirely. Humans could not function in vacuum, so the decision to go around them increased the chance of mission success by 28.236%. At that precise moment, an onboard sensor detected a heat spike of 0.003% in the centurion's CPU. If someone had explained this to centurion 86C31D4 in human language, the red-eyed machine would not have understood that it was experiencing the warm glow of personal satisfaction.

. . .

Gaius Baltar, eyes unnaturally bright, paced back and forth in the cell that for long months had been Gina Inviere's home. He was trapped, not by the cell door, but by his own indecision. Should he stay here, where the major said it would be safe? Should he try and reach the Raptor? Why, he asked himself over and over again … why do I always seem to end up in the wrong place at the wrong time?

The scientist finally decided that he didn't have enough information to make an informed choice, so he left the cell. The first thing he saw was the three dead bodies near the entrance to the brig. _Oh, my gods! Oh, my gods! Cain will think that I had something to do with this, but I didn't! I didn't! I've got to get out of here now!_

Gaius stepped gingerly over the corpses and pushed open the hatch. He peered cautiously up and down the corridor; mercifully, there was no one to be seen in either direction. He set off toward the starboard landing bays, but he had not gone very far when Helena Cain made her announcement.

_Dead or alive? Oh, my gods! I need to hide, but where?_

Gaius looked frantically around him. The corridor was no good; unlike _Galactica_, where there were crates conveniently stacked everywhere, _Pegasus_ was a neat and tidy ship.

"_There,"_ someone shouted. "It's Baltar!"

Impulsively, Gaius started to run away from the voice, which was so heavy with accusation. He rounded the first corner he came to—and collided head on with Corporal Max Sutter.

"Easy, Doctor; I've got you."

"_It wasn't me,"_ Gaius yelped; _"it wasn't me!"_

"Doctor, calm down," the corporal said soothingly. "What are you talking about? Where were you during the battle?"

"I was in the brig, monitoring the Cylon prisoner. That's when Major Bierns came in … you know … the hybrid? He killed them! He killed everyone in the brig, but it wasn't me! I didn't have anything to do with it, I swear! He freed the Cylon, and he told me to stay in the brig or I'd die along with everyone else!"

"So what are you doing out here?"

"I thought … I thought I should go look for help. He's mad, you know. The major is mad. He's going to try and kill Admiral Cain, and if that doesn't work he'll try and destroy the ship. Auxiliary Fire Control … he's going to try and get to Auxiliary Fire Control!"

"Don't worry about it, Doctor. We have an entire squad camped outside the AFC. He won't get anywhere near it, or the CIC, for that matter. Now, do you happen to know how the major got onto the ship?"

"He said … he said that he had a Raptor in the starboard hangar bay. Yes, that's it! That's it! That's how he boarded us!"

"Very good, doctor; for now, that's all we need to know. Private Capellanis."

"Sir?"

"Escort Doctor Baltar back to the brig, and stay with him. He's a valuable scientist; make sure that he's safe."

"Sir!"

"Go with him, Doctor … and keep your head down."

Sutter headed for the nearest telephone. Barely a minute later, Helena Cain made a second shipwide hail.

. . .

"Attention, all hands, this is the Admiral. We have located Doctor Baltar, and taken him into custody. However, the Cylon prisoner remains at liberty, and we have now learned that there is an extremely dangerous intruder loose on our decks. The hybrid Colonial Secret Service officer, Major Bierns, is somewhere on this ship. We suspect that he brought the centurions with him, and that he is intent upon destroying _Pegasus_. I want him captured. Repeat, I want the hybrid alive. He is no doubt heavily armed and will certainly resist arrest, but nothing more serious than battered and bruised is an option here. That is all."

_Well, that tears it_. John estimated that he was some two hundred meters from the secondary storage bay, but at least he was on the same deck. He ducked into the first compartment on his right, and closed the hatch behind him. Turning, the spook discovered that he was in a deep, rectangular chamber lined with bunks and storage lockers along its entire length. _Hmm … crew quarters … let's see if anything fits. Dress uniforms? No … don't think so. Ah, fatigues … just the thing for the man on the go!_

Bierns hastily changed into the military garb. He had chosen an outfit at least two sizes too large, but that was all to the good— the Kevlar vest notwithstanding, the bandolier fit comfortably under the tunic, and there were plenty of pockets for the rest of his paraphernalia. He hated to discard his jacket, but he needed camouflage, and he needed it now.

John decided to leave a calling card. He took out a good-sized brick of G-4, set the detonator for seventy seconds, and rammed it home. Quickly reentering Causeway Alpha with machine pistols in hand, he spotted a couple of marines at the next junction. Bringing the silenced MP16R to bear, he gunned them down and ran around the corner. The cross corridor was empty. He dashed over to the port side, yanked out another slab of G-4, primed the detonator for forty seconds, and set it on the deck. He could hear voices out in bravo causeway, coming from both directions. He tossed flash grenades to both left and right, shot two upright crewmen, and jumped over the stunned bodies of those who had already fallen to the deck. A loud explosion threw Ghostrider violently against the wall, but he rebounded and raced on down the hallway, counting off the seconds in his head. The second charge detonated.

_Right on time,_ he smiled.

. . .

"Admiral, we've lost landing bay alpha. It's an inferno down there. If the fire reaches the main fuel cell, we'll lose the whole pod—and it could take half the ship with it."

"I see it, Mr. Kelso. Captain Shaw, we need to seal off alpha and vent the deck. Go to the emergency decompression master override panel and input your code."

"Admiral, with all due respect, there are over a hundred people on that deck!"

"Not any more, Captain. They're all dead, and if we don't get on it we'll lose bravo for sure, and just possibly the entire ship. You're a Razor, Miss Shaw … and Razors don't flinch. Do it."

Kendra Shaw stood to attention, and walked stiffly to the control panel. She entered the code that would allow them to bypass the decompression safeties, and watched quietly while Kelso began flicking switches. They waited until the three massive hatchways that connected landing bay alpha to the rest of the ship were sealed shut, and then Shaw turned a dial. Explosive charges built into the hull detonated, and the whole of the landing bay was opened to space. The airless vacuum snuffed out the raging flames in a matter of seconds.

"Admiral, the board reads green," Shaw reported. "The fire's out."

"Thank you, Captain. Now, get me a damage report on bravo. Find out how many launch tubes are still serviceable, and how many birds we can put in the air. We need more eyes out there."

_Where's the fleet,_ Cain wondered. She was at the rendezvous coordinates, but the DRADIS was empty. _Couldn't Demand Peace commandeer even one single, solitary ship? _She shook her head in frustration.

"Admiral, we have a problem."

"We have several, Mr. Kelso. Is any one of them more urgent than the others?"

"Ma'am, Lieutenant Wang reports that we're bleeding air through the portside storage bay immediately aft frame 42. The hatch sealing off the compartment from Causeway Bravo has been breached."

"It's that damn centurion," Cain cursed. "Mr. Hoshi, tell the EVA team to get suited up … and make sure that they're armed with explosive rounds."

"Admiral," Hoshi replied, "I'm getting reports of explosions and casualties to both port and starboard at frame 18."

"Instruct Sergeant Ephialtes to sweep both causeways from 18 to the engine room. And tell whoever's in charge down there to move one squad forward, but cautiously. We should be able to trap the Cylon and that freak Bierns between the two forces."

. . .

John was approaching frame 15 along the port side when a fresh explosion rocked the deck. He could hear the screaming of the wounded, somewhere off to starboard. A staccato burst of gunfire abruptly cut off the screams, and he was momentarily bathed in silence. Then more gunfire erupted … a different caliber. _Gina, _he thought; _it has to be Gina!_

Bierns continued to edge forward, tightly hugging the interior wall of the causeway. He reached for a smoke grenade; his instincts were screaming at him that something was seriously wrong, but he couldn't detect the source of the danger. He slid the grenade back down the corridor, the rational part of his brain telling him that the marines must be closing in from that direction. But the hypothalamus was sending him a different, ever more urgent message. _Ahead of you, dummy … they're ahead of you!_

John got down on his hands and knees as he approached the next junction. He was now no more than sixty meters from the secondary storage bay. He took out two more grenades. Blindly, he whipped a flash grenade around the corner, shutting his eyes tight to shield against the blast. He rolled into the intersection, the MP16R already coming to bear, but there was no one there. _Frak_! _Where are they?_ Hastily, he primed the fragmentation grenade before hurling it down the causeway in the direction of the engine room. . . .

Gina heard the explosion off to her right, and she knew that John was ahead of her on the portside. She snaked to the next junction, and peeked cautiously around the corner. In the distance, she saw tendrils of smoke curling into the cross corridor from Causeway Bravo. _Good idea,_ she thought. Gina rolled over onto her back, pulled out a smoke grenade of her own, and tossed it as far down the corridor as she could manage. But she had more pressing problems behind her. She had managed to ambush one heavily armed marine fire team by the simple expedient of out waiting them. She had stood her ground in a shallow alcove, willing them to come closer, and then she had lobbed a grenade into their midst. Even as she finished off the first squad, however, she could see a second farther on down the causeway. They had instantly opened fire on her position, but she had blinded them with smoke and flash grenades. Still, the marines had kept firing, forcing her to crawl forward on her belly. _Forty meters, _she judged; _just forty more meters._

. . .

"Admiral, starboard bay bravo is still operational, but the deck chief believes that the heat from the fire was sufficient to render the entire pod structurally unsound. He recommends immediate evacuation."

"Can we still launch Vipers?"

"Yes, Ma'am, but we lost five entire squads when alpha went up. At this point, we cannot even account for the pilots."

Cain weighed her options, none of which were particularly good. "Captain, launch the Orange team. Station three Vipers ahead of us, and the balance on our port flank. Send out one Raptor to coordinate the electronic sweeps. Make sure the ECO knows that we're blind out there."

"And the deck gang, Admiral?"

"Order them to suit up. We have to keep the Vipers flying!"

"Confirm that," Helena heard Louis Hoshi order. Her officer listened silently for a moment, and then he looked up at Cain. "Admiral, Lieutenant Wang has just confirmed that they've taken out the centurion. Everything forward of frame 18 has been secured."

"Do you have Wang on the phone?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Put me through."

"Lieutenant, this is the Admiral. I want you to take every marine you can find and double time it to frame 18. Reinforce Sergeant Ephialtes. Bierns and the Cylon appear to be advancing towards the engine room along both alpha and bravo causeways. They must not under any circumstances reach their objective; are we clear on this?"

"Yes, Ma'am! Are we now authorized to shoot to kill?"

"No! Put them on their knees, but I want them both alive!"

Kendra Shaw was looking at her oddly, so Cain decided to explain.

"We need a bargaining chip, Captain. When we catch up with _Galactica_- and we will- I intend to trade Bierns for our men. Adama will either make the swap, or I'll send his precious hybrid back to him in bits and pieces."

. . .

The two hatchways were directly opposite one another, and both were slightly recessed.

_Perfect, _Bierns thought. He lodged the grenade firmly between the hatch and the combing, ran the transparent filament across the hall, and tied it off on the other side. This left him with only two fragmentation grenades, but at least he'd be warned if someone came up the corridor behind him.

His head constantly swiveling, the spook approached the junction with Causeway Alpha. Bullets were flying all over the place, buzzing like angry wasps—but these stings could kill. John crouched low, and peeked around the corner: Gina was less than twenty meters away, crawling towards him on her belly, a blanket of smoke rising off the deck somewhere behind her. But the smoke was clearing, and the marines would be able to draw a bead on her before she reached his position.

Staying low, John opened fire with his second MP16R, the bullets passing just over Gina's head. Then he stood erect and walked his weapon along the corridor, the bullets ricocheting off the deck behind her. He didn't know whether the automatic rounds were finding the mark, but he also didn't care. The idea was to buy time … pin the marines down until Gina could make it to the corner.

Ghostrider emptied the magazine, and hurled another smoke grenade down the causeway. He followed it up with a flash grenade, and then for good measure sent another smoke grenade sliding along the deck behind him. He didn't want anyone to get lucky and spot the filament.

Bierns slammed home another magazine, and fired off another blind burst as Gina worked her way around the corner.

John helped the Cylon to her feet. "Are we having fun yet," he asked, his eyes alight with a wicked gleam.

Gina stared at him silently, her expression a mix of curiosity and amazement. The spook knew what she was thinking.

"Gina, it's an adrenaline high," he said nervously. "The truth of the matter is that I'm scared shitless. We still have twenty meters to cross, and a hatch to open, but if one of those bullets finds me … I won't resurrect."

"Helena wants you alive; didn't you hear her?"

"Yeah, I did … but the question is … did they?" Bierns shrugged his shoulder in the direction of the marines, who were still out there somewhere in the smoke. "I have the distinct impression that Helena's orders aren't cutting much weight around here."

Bierns leaned around the corner and fired another burst, this time with his silenced MP16R. "All right, here's what we're gonna do. Have you got two fragmentation grenades?"

Gina nodded.

"Terrific. Send one long, the other short. Then you roll to the other side of the causeway, you get up, and you run like hell. Stay low, and hug the wall. The entrance to the secondary storage bay is recessed just enough to provide you some protection."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll be right behind you." John tapped his tunic. "The latest in Kevlar accessories; don't worry, I'll be all right." He pulled out a small wad of G-4 and a detonator, which he set for five seconds.

Gina looked at him worriedly. "I rigged the door so that it would look like the compartment is open to space," he explained. "We'll have to blow it open."

Impulsively, John leaned forward and kissed Gina Inviere hard on the lips. "On three, Gina … ready? One … two … three … _go!_"

Gina hurled the two grenades, and then threw herself headfirst across the hallway. She slammed hard into the opposite wall, leapt to her feet, and started running. John was right behind her. He had barely cleared the junction when a marine triggered the booby trap mere meters away. All around them, explosions were giving way to screams.

Something punched John Bierns in the right shoulder hard enough to knock him off his feet. He didn't know whether the Kevlar had stopped the round or not, but he was so charged on adrenaline that he wouldn't have felt it even if the vest had failed. He bounced back to his feet and continued on.

"_John!"_ Gina screamed his name just once, and then a mist of blood sprayed the air. The bullet drove her into the hatchway, and she rebounded with such force that she crashed face down into the causeway. John barely glimpsed the marines, who had approached from the engine room and assumed various firing positions less than thirty meters distant.

_Herding us … they were frakkin' herding us! _Bierns dove into the alcove, checked the safety on the second MP16R, and then hurled himself back into the line of fire. He felt a stinging sensation in his left leg as he bounced hard off the wall and came up firing. He sprayed Causeway Alpha in both directions before dropping one of the machine pistols and grabbing a fragmentation grenade. He slid it hard in the direction of the engine room, and threw himself to the deck.

"_Grenade,"_ he heard one of the marines yell a mere second before the blast. John sent his last two smoke grenades spinning in both directions, and rolled back across the hall.

Gina was still conscious, and she was trying to drag herself along the deck, but it was slow going, and she was leaving a trail of blood behind her. _She won't make it_, a distant part of Ghostrider's mind coldly observed … _not in five seconds._

The spook dropped the silenced MP16R so that he could hastily reset the timer for twelve seconds. He jammed the G-4 home, and then bent over the Cylon. There was no time for subtlety. Bierns grabbed Gina by the ankles, and brutally dragged her out of the hatchway. He had barely managed to get her clear when the plastique tore the hatch out of the combing.

John lurched to his feet, a loud ringing in his head, blood pouring out of his ears and nostrils. He ignored it all. Two more bullets impacted on the vest. They didn't matter. Gina was trying to get up, and he knelt on one knee to help her. Another bullet found the mark, and she screamed in pain, but she managed to hold on to one of her weapons. Together they somehow staggered through the hatchway, Bierns clumsily kicking his own machine pistol ahead of him. They were all but crawling now to reach the Raptor's open ramp.

John had to let her go. He turned his head back toward the hatch, fumbling for another grenade. _"Go, Gina! Go!" _He could barely choke the words out, and it fleetingly occurred to him that he might be aspirating blood. But she had heard him; somehow, from somewhere, the Cylon had found the strength to push forward, the open Raptor now so tantalizingly close.

Bierns hurled the flash grenade out into the causeway. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gina reach the bottom of the ramp. She paused, turning to look back at him. There was blood everywhere.

John Bierns fell to his knees, and reached out for the MP16R. He was damned if he was going to let Cain's wind-up soldiers have his favorite toy. He sprayed the hatchway with a short burst, just to make sure that the gun was still working, and then he pulled himself to his feet and limped towards the Raptor. His left leg was no longer working very well, and he couldn't for the life of him imagine why.

Gina was halfway up the ramp, her own MP16R firmly in her grip. Suddenly, she opened fire, the bullets whizzing past so close that John felt like he could swat them out of the air with his tongue. He reached the foot of the ramp, and then there was a terrible pain and his left leg just wasn't there anymore. He crashed onto the ramp, which was already slick with Gina's blood.

In slow motion, he watched her drop the gun and reach inside her bloody tunic to pull out a grenade. It flew majestically over his head. John knew that it must have landed, must have detonated, but he couldn't hear a thing. And then, even through the Kevlar, he could feel the scalding heat.

Gina reached down and grabbed John Bierns by the collar with her left hand. She began to pull him up the ramp. He could see that she had lost the use of her right hand, but Gina was strong … Cylon strong. Still, he couldn't find a purchase with his right foot to help her, and there was only so much that she could do with his dead weight. She gave up, scrambled into the Raptor, and hit the button. The ramp began to lift, and as the door closed it carried John Bierns with it, finally spilling him onto the floor of the ECO's compartment.

John screamed, though he could not hear it. Gina was screaming as well; the surviving marines had poured into the storage bay, and their bullets were smashing into the hull like raindrops. She didn't know that a CSS Raptor wasn't just hardened electronically—it was hardened against all sorts of physical punishment that the Colonial fleet's birds could never hope to sustain.

Bierns dragged himself slowly and painfully towards the pilot's seat. He had no idea where they were, not after _Pegasus_ had jumped. There was no avoiding it. He would have to enter a fifteen digit string without any reference point—a blind jump.

Bierns pulled away from _Pegasus_, leaving the secondary storage bay and the corridors beyond it exposed to vacuum. Dozens of marines, both living and dead, were sucked into space, and a series of explosive decompressions began rippling across the battlestar's starboard face. John spooled up the Raptor's lone FTL, and one by one, started to enter the data points for the jump. All he could do was enter the coordinates for the scheduled rendezvous with the fleet, and hope that they were still within range.

. . .

"Admiral," Kelso yelled as he looked up from his console, his face stricken with alarm. "There's a Raptor off the starboard secondary storage bay, and it's preparing to jump!"

"No," Shaw screamed, "the spatial distortion might tear what's left of _Pegasus _apart!" Kendra scrambled for the telephone. "Hoshi," she yelled, "put me through to Stinger. If the Vipers don't shoot Bierns down …"

. . .

John entered the final coordinate in the sequence. There was a hard smile on the spook's bloodied lips; he was drifting bare meters above the battlestar's center line, and he had a pretty good idea of what he was about to do to _Pegasus_. The ship had come to them straight from Hell, and if he could break the vessel's spine, he would send it straight back.

Gina Inviere dropped into the second seat, and John reached out to grasp her good hand. They were both covered in blood, but for the moment at least, they were both still alive.

"Gods, but you're beautiful," he blurted out even as he coughed up more blood. . . .

The Raptor jumped.

. . .

Time stood still. It seemed as if the very fabric of space was holding its breath.

Seconds began to tick away.

Finally, _Pegasus_ flexed … and then the Mercury class battlestar vomited.


	27. Chapter 27: Hell

CHAPTER 27

HELL

The CSS Raptor was hovering bare meters above the massive steel spine of the _Pegasus. _The enormous girder had already been stressed by Adama's maneuver, and the ensuing jump that had allowed the battlestar to escape both _Galactica _and the Cylons had compounded the damage. When John Bierns finished up the long string of coordinates and engaged his lone FTL drive, the now fragile beam finally snapped. Without repairs that were beyond Cain's reach, the winged horse would never jump again.

In the short term, however, the structural damage to both port and starboard was far more catastrophic. One of the three great lateral struts that tethered the port landing pod to the battlestar had already fractured. Now a latticework of cracks made slow and majestic progress along the other two struts. In the CIC, the command staff could only watch helplessly as the ship's sensors mapped out the battlestar'sfate.

The pod separated from the hull, and as it did so another round of explosions ripped through the badly weakened portside frames. More compartments opened to space.

From one end of the ship to the other, emergency systems automatically kicked in. On deck after deck hatches slammed shut from stem to stern as sensors detected the drops in oxygen and pressure all along Causeway Bravo. The tiniest of man's many instruments fought to save the wounded ship, but they were blind to the scores of deaths suffered by the _Pegasus_ crew in the process. Large numbers might have been saved if the sensors had possessed the quality of judgment, but they were nothing more than subservient machines. Blind slave's to man's will, the sensors killed with an efficiency that certainly rivaled and perhaps surpassed the best efforts of Cavil's centurions.

"Admiral," Hoshi reported, we've lost the port side." The lieutenant was numb. "Every frame … every compartment … the port landing pod … they're all gone."

Cain was gripping the central console hard while she tried to think. "Mr. Hoshi," she finally said, "whatever we have left to starboard … I want every Viper and Raptor launched into space right now. Helm, do we still have the sublights?" The admiral didn't even bother asking about the FTL's; if they couldn't jump, the faster than light drives were irrelevant.

"Affirmative," one of the surviving officers reported. "We've lost all of the primary control systems, but the backups are holding."

"Right. Mr. Hoshi, if we still have internal communications, put me on speaker."

Hoshi's fingers mechanically flew over his console, and then he looked up and nodded woodenly at the admiral.

"Attention, all hands. This is Admiral Cain. We have just come through a horrific battle, and I am not going to minimize the hits that we've taken. The entire port side of the ship is gone, and we've also suffered significant damage to starboard … but we're still here, we can still fight, and I expect all of you to continue doing your duty. Section chiefs, I want detailed reports in the next two hours. Work up an inventory of all essential goods. Food … water … fuel … medicine … we need to know what we've got, and how long we can make it last. Forward casualty lists to Captain Shaw ASAP."

Cain looked around the CIC, which physically betrayed little sign of the carnage that had unfolded all around them. "Admiral Nagala," she continued, "used to say that we stand only because we stand together. Rely on your shipmates … do your duty. The gods willing, we shall get through this. That is all."

Cain looked over at one of the marines on duty in the CIC. "I need Doctor Baltar. If that bastard's still alive, get him up here. Lieutenant Hoshi, put Stinger on."

"Admiral?"

"Captain, I'm sending every Raptor and Viper that can fly into space. Prep the Raptors to go EVA. I want you to scour our debris field, as well as everything around us for a distance of two MU's. Rack every corpse you can find, and bring them into the starboard landing bay."

"Admiral? Could you repeat that order, sir?"

Cain hissed impatiently. "Food," Mr. Taylor; "our shipmates may not have died for a very good cause, but rest assured that their deaths will not have been in vain."

. . .

"_Brother, what are you doing?"_

The Eight did not need to consult the data stream to know that, throughout the ship, the copies of her model were being ruthlessly slaughtered. The Ones had never bothered to conceal their contempt for the other Cylons, but above all for the Sixes and Eights.

"Remodeling," Cavil succinctly replied, although he doubted whether the Eight was clever enough to understand the pun.

"But why? Your model voted to make peace with the humans … without your support, we could not have achieved consensus."

"Well," Cavil smirked, "consider this our way of withdrawing from Caprica Six's brave new world. Eight, we're going back to the drawing board. Our creators obviously made some serious mistakes … the Twos and Threes and their obsession with God … your pathetic fixation on children … the Sixes and their ongoing love affair with the human pest. We're machines, Eight; we don't have souls, and we don't need children. So we're going to box you while we try and figure out a way to tweak your programming. Don't worry … by the time we get done you'll be just like the Fives … reliable, predictable machines who know their place in the universe. We'll take away your doubts and emancipate you from all this self-inflicted angst. You'll be both productive and content … and a great deal more knowledgeable about matters of the flesh. Your model has always been a disappointment in that regard, Eight. It's the one area in which the humans surpass us, but you'll learn. You'll find us to be _very_ inventive teachers."

"Slaves." The Eight spat the word out with all the contempt that she could muster. "You've lost your human harem, so we've been condemned to take their place. This is about your weaknesses, not ours."

"Kill her," Cavil commanded.

The centurion brought its left arm to bear, and opened fire. The Eight's universe exploded as the rounds buried themselves in her chest. Enthralled by the white, hot firmament that reached out to embrace her, she barely noticed the attendant pain. For a few precious moments, the young Cylon knew what it was like to be a shooting star in a galaxy newly born. But the light faded and died, and soon enough she fell into darkness.

. . .

_We are so frakked!_

Gina Inviere may not have been human, but she had lived among humans long enough to know that a bad situation had just gotten … well, those four oft-spoken words pretty much covered it. The Raptor had finished up its blind jump in the middle of nowhere. There was no evidence of the colonial fleet on DRADIS, and no planetary system in the immediate neighborhood. The star patterns meant nothing to her, and infinitely worse, they meant nothing to the onboard computer. The message kept flashing on the screen in front of her—NO MATCHES FOUND. The Raptor could have jumped a light year, or it could have reentered normal space at the opposite end of the universe. There was simply no way for her to tell.

Gina badly needed John to wake up and help her figure out how to get out of this mess, but he was slumped in his seat. He had passed out, and quite probably gone into shock … but again, there was simply no way for her to tell. Gina had never received any medical training, not even the most rudimentary information about first aid.

_Damn it, Cylons download! We don't need to know this crap! God, how can you keep doing this to me? How can you make me responsible for the death of our First Born?_

Gina was terrified, but not for herself. She had not yet purged the longing for permanent death from her system, but it was being overwhelmed by a perverse suspicion that had begun to course through her synaptic relays.

_All of this has happened before, and all of it will happen again. Heavenly Father, is this why you punish me so harshly? Does our child come to save me in every cycle? Does he die in my arms over time without cease, shattering the prophecies, condemning us all to suffer extinction in one all-consuming act of madness? Well, not this time! Not … this … time!_

Gina climbed slowly to her feet. She had no feeling in her right arm. It was hanging at her side, limp and useless. When she looked down, the whole right side of her body seemed to be coated with blood … but mercifully, she no longer appeared to be in any immediate danger. Whatever else might happen, she wasn't going to bleed to death.

She wished that she could say the same thing about John, but she couldn't … she couldn't.

_Oh, God … please … help me! There's so much blood, and I don't know what to do …_

Gina wrapped her left arm around John's chest, and wrestled him out of the pilot's seat. He moaned in pain, but she persisted. She laid him out flat on the floor, not knowing whether she was helping him or adding to his injuries.

_Should I elevate his head? He's struggling so hard just to breathe. What happened? There's no wound on his chest. The blast … he must have caught the full force of the blast. It must have ruptured something in his chest … maybe one of his lungs. . . ._

Gina pressed her palms gently against the sides of John's ribcage, probing for damage that she couldn't see. When she touched a spot high on the right side of his chest, he moaned again.

_His right lung … this has to be it. Did the rib puncture it? And his leg … oh, God … it's still bleeding. I'm going to lose him!_

A torrent of emotions washed through Gina Inviere … feelings at once complex and elusive. With Helena it had always been about fire … the white heat of highly visible passion. This was different … quieter and calmer, yet richer and deeper. Gina searched for a term—something in the human vocabulary that would describe a broken place deep inside her that John had somehow mended … a welling emptiness that he had somehow filled.

_Contentment … I am what I'm supposed to be … and I no longer want to die._

Gina grabbed the emergency medical kit with her good hand, and crawled back to John's side. With difficulty, she sterilized the four entry and exit wounds on his leg before tamping gauze into the ragged holes and wrapping them with pressure bandages. The two exit wounds were large and ugly, but Gina thought it a good sign that the bullets had not lodged in muscle or bone. Blood continued slowly to seep into the bandages, but it wasn't flowing uncontrollably. She began to hope that the two rounds had missed the vital arteries.

_Am I supposed to bandage his chest? Should I roll him onto his side … elevate his left lung?_

Gina knew that she had done what she could—and that it wasn't enough. Without competent help, their child would die, and it would be her fault. She got up, went to the hatch, and loaded a new access code into the electronic lock. Then she went forward, sat down, and stared at the star patterns, memorizing the panorama that spread out before her. She decided to pray.

_Merciful Father, hear my prayer. I do not want to die, but I can think of no other way to save our son. Please, Heavenly Father, let there be a resurrection ship within range … let me find help, and find it in time. Amen._

Gina picked up her MP16R, and double checked to make sure that she had switched to manual fire. She shoved the barrel into her left ear, and pulled the trigger.

. . .

Caprica Six looked back over her shoulder. "Hurry … we have to hurry," she said as she urged the others forward.

"Six, are you ever going to tell us how we got into this mess," D'Anna asked.

"I never thought that it would come to this," Caprica admitted, "and I don't understand what went wrong. The hybrid is supposed to uphold consensus; it should have kept the centurions in check."

"That's its frakking job," she added in frustration.

"I wonder how the Ones did it," Leoben remarked. "They never showed that much interest in either the centurions or the hybrid. How could they override … or worse yet … control it?"

"The Fours," Boomer suggested; "the Ones couldn't have corrupted the centurions on their own. Those bastards must have helped them."

"Unless the Ones built in safeguards decades ago," Caprica suggested.

"What are you saying?" Boomer was looking at her tall, blond-haired sister with keen interest. It was beginning to dawn on her that there was a lot more to Caprica Six than met the eye.

"Think about it," Caprica tersely replied. "Sharon, you know our First Born. How old do you think he is?"

Boomer thought about it for a second or two. "Somewhere in his mid-thirties," she hazarded.

"And Kara?"

"Late twenties."

"But my model only came on line twenty-four years ago," Caprica softly noted … "or so we were told."

Thunderstruck, D'Anna stopped dead in her tracks. "But that means … that means …"

"That our whole existence is a lie," Leoben finished for her. "There must be an entire generation of models … maybe more than one generation … that's vanished."

"It makes you wonder, doesn't it? I mean, about what might have happened to the Sevens … the missing five … our creators. Should we be all that surprised that the Ones have somehow managed to enslave the hybrids to their will?" Caprica's tone was bitter in the extreme.

"It makes me wonder about our programming," Boomer angrily exclaimed. "This bullshit about being flawless machines … and how did we ever sell ourselves on the obscene notion that God forgives all—unless, of course, we happen to be talking about humans. No rational being could possibly embrace such drivel … and I'm not crazy. No, it's obvious: we've been manipulated. The Cavils reprogrammed us."

"We have to keep moving," Caprica urged. "We have to warn the others."

"I wonder what our creators actually wanted me to do with my life." Boomer was racing to keep up with her sister.

Caprica Six gave her a funny look; the answer to that particular question now seemed more than a little obvious. "Eight, don't the humans have a saying … something about love, marriage, and the baby carriage?"

The four Cylons reached the Heavy Raider, which was being guarded by five full squads of centurions.

"You _have_ been busy, Six!" D'Anna's respect for her younger sister was going up by the second. "Do you have confederates on the other two ships?"

"Yes, but we'll have to leave them to their fate. The Ones won't be content to purge just this one ship. We have to assume that the other two are already lost to us. But … but … you know as well as I do that there are six more baseships out there, as well as two resurrection ships and another supply convoy."

There were two centurions seated at the controls, and Caprica went forward to issue orders. Eight more members of her personal bodyguard were already on board.

"It's an out and out race," Caprica called back to her friends. "It will take the Cavils time to organize this fleet, and get the word out to the other ships. The closest resurrection vessel is embedded in the supply convoy, and it's being escorted by two baseships. The Ones aren't impulsive, so they must have a mechanism in place to take down that entire fleet at a moment's notice. Logic suggests that we search out the three baseships that were tasked to hunt for _Pegasus_. I have supporters on all three … enough to carry out a little ethnic cleansing of our own. Afterwards, we'll see about the other resurrection vessel. It's only escort is the baseship that Natalie mauled over Caprica, so it's vulnerable. As I said, it's a race."

The Six was busily entering jump coordinates when a truly vicious thought struck her.

"Wait," she said quietly to the centurions, who had already lifted off and turned their nose towards the exit.

"Once we have a viable base of operations," Caprica continued, "we'll have to decide what to do next. As I see it, we have two choices. We fight on our own- we get our house in order, as Shelly put it- or we seek out the human fleet. With three baseships at our disposal, maybe four, we wouldn't exactly be showing up empty-handed. We could negotiate from strength … possibly come up with a better deal than the one Natalie leveraged."

Caprica punched a button, and the Heavy Raider jumped.

"_You jumped from inside the baseship?"_ Leoben Conoy looked at Caprica Six as if he had never seen her before—and in a way, that wasn't far from the truth.

"I'm playing for keeps," she brusquely retorted, "and the Cavils are now the enemy. This will slow them down."

Caprica Six's eyes were ice cold, and the determination in her voice was rock hard.

"There's no going back from this, and only one way forward. I know exactly what I want when this is all over—for me … for the centurions … for our models. Colonial citizenship … full civil rights … an end to discrimination against sentient machines … and a very permanent end to the idea that, just because we weren't born, we somehow count for less than humans. That's going to be my legacy … my gift to our children."

Caprica turned to address the centurions. "We've planned for this," she said, exhorting them; "we've trained for this. Move quickly. I want to finish off the Ones before they even know that they're in a fight."

The eight centurions needed no further encouragement. The One True God had forged Caprica Six for this moment, and they would not fail her.

. . .

_Dear Diary. Day 178 after you know what. Another so-so day in the life of Major Kara Thrace … um … make that Kara Six. In the morning, stormed a Cylon baseship and helped three of my moms blow up the control room. Did not blow up the intercom … no, honestly. Had to make a really stupid speech that demonstrated to everyone listening that yours truly is squarely in the middle of a nervous breakdown. Do nervous breakdowns have a beginning, middle, and end? Remember to ask Doctor Fordyce. Graciously accepted the surrender of approximately nine hundred more of my moms. Made an appointment with Doc Cottle to have my spine realigned after being hugged by approximately nine hundred of my moms. Met my sister Pelea, who didn't understand how I could know her name when she didn't know it herself. It was really hard to get her attention. I had to strip naked, drop into a vat of goo, kiss her hard, and grope her in full view of several dozen aunts, uncles and metallic brothers. My metallic brothers really seemed to enjoy the performance. Trust me … it is really hard to grope someone who's a collection of cables and conduits from the waist down, but not for nothing am I the resident out-of-the-box thinker in this fleet. I managed. In the afternoon, retreated into the bowels of said baseship, and found a comfortable place to sit on a spongy floor that thoughtfully rearranged itself to accommodate the contours of my very shapely ass (if I do say so myself, and I do). Remembered to thank the floor for its sensitivity and consideration. Had a meaningful conversation with the baseship about the difficulties of parenting several thousand Cylons, most of whom seem to be functioning on the level of three year olds. Should I be concerned that no one else can talk to the baseship, or that this conversation is only going on inside my head? Remember to ask Doctor Fordyce. Learned that the artificial volcano that dominates the baseship's interior is called The Source, and that the red stuff that looks kinda like lava is a sort of molten goop that the ship uses to repair and regenerate itself. Now, that's a neat trick! Oh, and I got this from the wall that I was leaning against. It's a very friendly wall, and it spent a lot of time tutoring me about all sorts of stuff that the Cylons themselves don't know. It's amazing how little they seem to know about their own ships. Like I said … we're dealing with a bunch of three year olds here. Anyway, I made a date to see the wall again tomorrow; she thinks that she can help me do something with my hair, which I freely admit is no longer one of my better features. . . ._

_Yeah,_ Kara mentally confessed, _that pretty well summarizes my day so far … and it's not even over. Will my knife and fork try to improve my table manners over dinner?_

Starbuck was in fact sitting on a spongy floor inside the beating heart of the Cylon baseship, with her chin propped up on her knees. She was hugging herself, pensively trying to judge the scale of a chamber that offered no visible reference points. She had the whole place to herself … well … almost. _I could really savor the moment, _she cursed,_ if only the gods damned ship would just shut the frak up!_

At the moment she was telling Kara- no, bragging was more the word- that the entire colonial fleet could be deposited in here with plenty of room to spare.

_Oh, yeah, _Kara retorted. _And just how the frak do you propose to get the Zephyr in here? Haven't got an answer for that one, do you?_

The ship fell silent, allowing Starbuck to drink in the view. It really was spectacular.

"There she is."

Kara looked up, and audibly groaned. A quartet of Sixes was fast approaching; she recognized Elektra, Miriam and Rachel, but not the fourth member of this particular set. _And how the hell do I know who's who around here? I mean … they all have the same hair, and they're all wearing those ridiculous white raincoats. _It was getting to the point where Starbuck could distinguish one Six from another just at a glance, and that scared her a great deal more than talking baseships.

"Daughter, what are you doing out here by yourself," Miriam asked as the four Sixes settled themselves comfortably on the floor around her.

"I like the view," Kara answered. "It's really … red."

"Are you still talking to the ship," Rachel wanted to know.

"Yeah, she's really chatty. She's saved up everything she ever wanted to say, just waiting for me to come along."

Kara pointed at the volcano. "Did you know that that's called The Source?"

Rachel gave her an odd look, one that was tinged with concern. "No," she said; "no, I didn't know that."

Miriam put a protective arm around Starbuck's shoulders. "Sweetheart, it's been a long, hard day. Are you sure that you're all right?"

Kara smiled weakly. "Mom, I'm … it's just … I'm worried about John."

Adama had brought the bad news with him, and it had spread like unwanted wildfire through the Cylon community. Slipping aboard _Pegasus_ with a pair of centurions in tow in order to kill Cain and free Gina Inviere … why hadn't anybody had the good sense to stop him? On the surface, it looked like a heroic gesture, but Kara knew better. Her twin was …

"He's not well." There. She had finally said it out loud.

"We know," Miriam softly replied. She hugged their daughter more tightly. "We know. We just don't know how to help him. We've never had to deal with deep-seated depression before. The Threes aren't … well, they're just not equipped to help him, and we don't know what to do. The Eights have some experience, but it's limited to getting us through the trauma of downloading."

"The guilt … everything that he's lost … everybody … it's driving him … destroying him. If it wasn't for …"

Alarm bells began to shriek in Kara's brain. _Gods, what are you doing? Pull yourself together, Starbuck; one wrong word could ruin everything!_

"Reun can't find him." This was her deepest fear because it meant that he was truly lost. "If she knew where to go, by now she would have jumped."

"My name is Lilith," the newcomer awkwardly interrupted. This was her ship, and earlier in the day she would have died to defend it. But that had been hours ago; now, she was reunited with her sisters, and all because of this one despondent creature. _Our child … our children … they're courting death to save their parents. But parents have to die for children to come into their own. _ The irony of it all was like acid, eating at her from within.

Lilith reached into her pocket and pulled out an unopened bottle of ambrosia. She offered it to Starbuck. "Will this help? I thought that this would be a celebration …" Her voice trailed off.

Kara looked at the label, absently noting that it was a very good brand. She broke the seal, opened the bottle, and took a long pull—but the aged liquor had lost its taste.

"We have to find them," Starbuck said with sudden determination. "Mara … Thalia … everybody we've lost. We have to bring them home. But Mara … we have to find Mara most of all. John will never agree to see a therapist … he has too many secrets. He's never going to forgive himself for what happened in his childhood, but Mara can tear down the mountain of guilt that's been crushing him since her death. Without her, he's going to drown."

. . .

Billy Keikeya picked up the telephone, listened for a moment, and then turned to Laura Roslin.

"Excuse me, Madame President; it's Captain Russo. He would like you to come to the flight deck. The resurrection ship has just jumped in; he thinks that you'll want to see it."

"Billy, tell him that I'm on my way."

Accompanied by Tory, Billy, and the usual quartet of presidential bodyguards, Laura headed for the flight deck. Tory and Billy were in close communication with dozens of captains throughout the fleet, many of whom had formally requested military assistance. The violence that _Demand Peace_ had instigated had rapidly spun out of control, and many of the ships were now caught up in wholesale rioting. The late Eric Phelan's black marketers had largely held _Demand Peace _at bay, but they were too few in number to have much of an impact on the chaos that was now sweeping the fleet. Terry Burrell, Erin Mathias and the Six with no name were moving from ship to ship, but eliminating the terrorists was their first priority—and one squad of marines could only do so much. Laura Roslin had repeatedly offered to dispatch centurions to aid her beleaguered captains … had pointed out that they had already saved the day on the _Virgon Express _while keeping _Prometheus_ and _Colonial One_ completely above the fray … but the memories ran too deep. The President's limited resources were being overtaxed, and the death toll was beginning to climb alarmingly. _Gideon_ and _Striker_ alone had cost them another eleven hundred dead.

Laura greeted Eduardo Reyes, the ship's First Officer, with a warm smile. She had never forgotten the consummate professionalism with which Russo and Reyes had done their jobs on the day of the attacks, nor the calm and uncomplaining way in which they had held up during the endless jumps, when the Cylons were coming at them every thirty-three minutes. Like everyone else on _Colonial One_, she owed a lot to these two men.

"Eduardo, it's good to see you again." She took the First Officer in her arms, and lightly kissed him on the cheek. "Could you set up communications stations for Billy and Tory? They'll tell you what they need."

"My pleasure, Madame President."

"Thank you, Eduardo; Captain, what have we got?"

Jim Russo turned in his seat, and beckoned Laura forward. "Madame President, we've had seven Cylon vessels jump in so far, all of them under Colonial control. Per your instructions, we've parked the two Raider factories, the tanker and the tylium processing ships, the general transport, and the _Arethusa_ in some of the slots that were opened up by our losses over Kobol. No problems there … but what are we going to do about _that?" _Russo gestured out the canopy, directing her attention to a spot high to the left.

Laura Roslin's mouth fell open, and she was reasonably certain that she had just stopped breathing. She stared and stared.

"My gods, Jim," she finally managed, "just look at it! Never mind its size … I don't know that I've ever seen anything quite so beautiful in my entire life!"

"You're right, Madame President; that's not a ship, that's … that's … that's a temple floating in space. How could the Cylons have ever designed something like this?"

Roslin could only shake her head in wonder. _Indeed. How could a race capable of building something this beautiful engage in genocide? How?_

Laura came to a decision right then and there. "Jim, we're going to reconfigure the fleet. I want that ship to become our epicenter. We all know how efficiently the Cylons can deliver wholesale death and destruction; I want our people to have a chance to appreciate what they're capable of building! My gods!"

"Madame President," Billy interrupted; "we are being hailed by the resurrection ship. It's Creusa, Captain Adama's …"

"Captain Apollo's wife," Roslin firmly corrected. "Or at least she will be when the good captain finally gets his priorities in order." Roslin reached for a headset. "Put her on up here."

"Madame President?"

"Creusa," Laura warmly responded. "Are you and the baby all right?"

"Yes, Madame President … and thank you for asking. I wanted you to know that everything has so far gone pretty much according to plan. We took the Cylon fleet completely by surprise. The centurions have taken heavy losses, especially on this ship, and we lost a tanker early on, but everything else looks good."

Creusa took a deep breath before pushing on. "Madame President, there's something else you need to know. We've discovered that those two first war era medical ships were being used for breeding experiments. It sounds like the Cavils have been employing the same protocols that gave us Kara and John … only this time with human captives. Madame President … I'm being told that several of these women have achieved viable pregnancies."

Creusa's voice was anguished. She was, after all, carrying a baby of her own. "Madame President … Laura … _what are we going to do?_"

The President rubbed her eyes; this was one problem that she most assuredly did not need. Finally, she looked up.

"Creusa, you implied that there was heavy fighting over there. How bad was it?"

"John says that it recalls the streets of Hypatia, during the final days of the war."

"Then listen to me carefully. Creusa, don't touch anything. Don't start removing bodies or wiping down the walls. Leave everything as it is. We have a press corps that devotes far too much time to gossip-mongering and not nearly enough to generating hard news. Well, it doesn't get any more real than this. Tell D'Anna to find her cameraman, and send a Heavy Raider to pick him up. Once Bill and Natalie have returned with the rest of the supply train, I'm going to take the press corps on a tour of that ship. If you are truly standing in the middle of Hell then I want the press … I want the people of this fleet … I want _everyone_ to bear witness to what happened over there today. We all know what the centurions have done to us; it's time to start balancing the scales by letting people see what they're now doing _for_ us. Are you good with this?"

"Yes, Madame President," Creusa softly replied. "Thank you," she said more softly still.

. . .

One by one, the Cylon vessels continued to arrive, and Laura Roslin delivered a heartfelt prayer of thanks to the gods when she saw the giant agricultural ship emerge from jump. The captured baseship was the last to appear, and the president breathed a deep sigh of relief when Kara Thrace immediately broadcast in the clear that the massive warship was under Colonial control. Laura couldn't help but laugh. What Starbuck was really saying was that this very lethal craft was answerable to a Cylon-human hybrid and several hundred copies of the Cylon model that collectively thought of her as their daughter. It was just one more crazy twist in a war that had become so morally ambiguous that separating friend from foe was fast approaching the threshold of impossibility. It was only on the fringes that matters remained clear-cut—_Demand Peace_ on the one side, and the Cavils and their acolytes on the other.

_I'm the President of all these people, _Laura dazedly acknowledged as she stared out at the baseship, knowing that it was home to thousands of Cylons. B_y this time tomorrow, entire models who were the enemy today will have enlisted to fight for this alliance. And I have to stand up publicly for the centurions; John and Kara will never forgive me if I allow their brothers to be mistreated. Then we have the hybrids … three of them, now. They have to have a voice in our affairs as well … the Cylons will insist upon it, and we ignore their links to the children, even the unborn ones, only at our own peril._

The President stared out through the canopy of _Colonial One_, but she was staring at possible futures, not the ships that glittered like jewels in the night.

_The government … or at least the government as we know it … no longer suits our needs. Everybody has to have a voice. Should we simply open up the Quorum to include Cylon representatives, or should we abandon it altogether … adopt some other kind of structure? Zarek and his allies will probably try and impeach me when I insist that the centurions have their own voice in our councils. But we have to do this because John swears that they're fully sentient. We can't treat them as slaves, or the whole bloody cycle of death and destruction will begin again—and this is not going to be my legacy! That reminds me …_

"Billy, as soon as we've restored order, I want you to make inquiries throughout the fleet. See if there's anyone out there who's proficient in sign language."

"Uh … did you say sign language, Madame President?"

"Yes, Billy; I want to teach the centurions how to sign. I want to give them a voice. . . ."

The rebel baseship limped in, and Laura's heart leapt to her throat when she saw the damage. One of the great lateral arms had been sawn almost in half; it was dangling, its tip crushed hard into the upper surface of the arm immediately beneath. Even from a distance she could make out the gashes that Cain's shells had rent across the face of the ship's central axis. Compartments opened to space too often translated into fatalities.

"Billy, connect me with the baseship; I want to speak with Commander Six."

In the Cylon control room, D'Anna caught Natalie's attention. "It's the President."

Natalie picked up her phone. "Madame President, this is Commander Six."

"Commander … Natalie … welcome home. Your ship … even from here, it looks like you've been through hell. Is there anything we can do to help?" Laura thought that her Cylon counterpart sounded bone-tired. _Even Cylons, _she thought, _must have their limits … especially their emotional limits._

"Would you excuse me for a moment, Madame President?" Natalie turned back to D'Anna. "Did Sonja come back with us?"

"No. She's still out with Blue Squadron. Lee and Kat are our lead pilots."

"Our losses … human, I mean?"

"Three Vipers … two pilots."

"It's a miracle we got off so easy," Natalie sighed. "D'Anna, order Lee to refuel and rearm Red Squadron, and tell him to get every pilot who can still fly back out there. And check on the status of the half dozen Vipers currently flying CAP. If they need to refuel, rotate them home. . . . What?" The Three was giving her an odd look.

"Oh, it's nothing, really," D'Anna smiled. "I was just thinking how much Admiral Adama has rubbed off on you. The two of you sound so much alike … the phrasing … the intonation; in another six months, no one will be able to tell you apart. You were born to command a battlestar."

"Thank you, D'Anna; I'll take that as a compliment. Now, while you're at it, see if you can rig a connection so that Apollo and Creusa can speak to each other. Lee wasn't happy about her role in this mission; the least we can do is try and ease his fears." Natalie paused to gather her thoughts.

"Madame President, are you there?"

"I'm here, Natalie."

"The damage is not nearly as bad as it looks. Given time, the ship will regenerate … and the resurrection ship will make good most of our losses. But we did lose two Viper pilots …"

Laura sighed deeply. "Every battle costs us," she said, "every battle. The children …"

"Physically, they're fine. We've built a shelter at the heart of the ship, which can double as an evacuation pod. But emotionally …"

"I understand. Natalie, I won't keep you. I know that you want to be with your daughter."

"Thank you, Madame President. Admiral Adama will be along shortly. _Galactica_ was still throwing punches when we jumped, but _Pegasus_ had also spooled up its FTL's … or what was left of them. The Admiral is a tactical genius!" Natalie briefly described the incredible stunt that Adama had used to wound _Pegasus_. Her admiration for the Old Man was transparent.

"_Demand Peace_," Natalie went on to inquire. "What about the fleet?"

"We've lost two ships, and suffered well in excess of a thousand additional casualties. Natalie, it's crazy out there. We're not in control, and what's left of _Demand Peace_ doesn't have much if any influence. People are killing one another with a vengeance. They're taking out their frustrations, acting out survivor's guilt—and we don't have the resources to cope."

"Madame President, there are several squads of marines on the captured ships—three squads on the resurrection ship alone."

"_Pegasus_ marines: if we deploy them, what assurance do we have that they'll fight for us?"

"Cain's gone, Madame President, and I don't think she's coming back. Her marines have got no place else to go."

"Commander Six, this is a military decision, and you are currently the ranking officer in this fleet. It's your call, but you'll have my complete support no matter how you choose to play this."

"Then I'm going to send in the marines—or at least try to. Please ask your aides to forward a list of the ships that are in most urgent need of our help. If you need me, Madame President, I'll be on the resurrection ship."

. . .

"Who's in charge here?"

True to her word, Natalie Faust had departed immediately for the resurrection ship, and by the time she had arrived Billy Keikeya had armed her with a list of the most endangered ships in the fleet.

A marine noncom looked at her with thinly veiled contempt. "I am," he said brusquely.

"And you would be?"

"Master Sergeant Dermott Keion."

"And do you know who I am?"

"You're one of them," Keion snorted dismissively.

"Wrong, Master Sergeant. It's obvious that you don't know a damned thing. Don't be fooled by the fact that I don't wear a uniform. I am the commander of the rebel Cylon baseship, and in Admiral Adama's absence, I'm in charge of this entire fleet. Frankly, I neither know nor do I particularly care whether your jarheads are privy to Admiral Cain's plan to overthrow our government. She failed. The blunt truth of the matter is that Cain is no longer with us and _Demand Peace_ has been crushed. Unfortunately, the violence which its leadership stirred up has taken on a life of its own and gotten completely out of hand. I have captains begging for military assistance to restore order …"

Without warning, Natalie suddenly lashed out, grabbed Keion's arm, and slapped a piece of paper into his palm.

"These captains," Natalie went on. "Now, my problem is that I only have one squad of _Galactica's _finest at my disposal, and they can't get on top of this mess. But you currently have six full squads sitting on my decks, and at the moment you don't seem to have anything better to do than to stand around twiddling your thumbs. Like it or not, Master Sergeant, this fleet is now your home, so you and I are going to sort this out right here and now. You and your men have exactly two choices: acknowledge my authority and obey my orders or tell me to get frakked. But if you want to go on wearing that uniform, I would advise you to stand to attention and snap off the best salute you can muster because, mister, you really do not want to make me angry." Natalie stepped back. "Make your call."

Dermott glanced around the circle of his buddies, but not one of them would meet his eye. They were leaving him strictly on his own. He stalled.

"Is it true that one of your … uh … 'sisters' joined _Galactica's_ marines?"

"Yes. Six is, among other things, theirunarmed combat instructor … and right now she's out there with Sergeant Mathias, Lieutenant Burrell, and the men and women in her unit. She's doing her job."

Keion nodded, and muttered something indecipherable under his breath. Suddenly he drew himself rigidly to attention, and smartly saluted the Cylon commander. "What are your orders, Ma'am?"

"Get your squads onto my Heavy Raider. The _centurion_ pilots will take you where you need to go. I want you to disperse, no more than one squad per ship. Do you have wireless contact with your units on the mining and agricultural ships?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good, contact them and apprise them of the situation. I'll have ships at their disposal in a matter of minutes."

Natalie started to walk away, but she paused.

"Help me out here, Sergeant. Am I supposed to say 'dismissed' or some such?"

Keion couldn't help but grin. "Yes, Ma'am; 'dismissed' is the magic word."

"Thank you, Sergeant. One last thing: please make it clear to your troops that the objective here is to restore order with the minimum possible use of force." Natalie looked Keion squarely in the eye, and smiled enigmatically. "My sisters have a voracious sexual appetite, and it is becoming somewhat alarming to them that we are using up the men in this fleet at a very fast clip. That is all, Master Sergeant; you're dismissed."

. . .

_Galactica_ stayed on the battlefield for another four hours, during the course of which the three Cylon baseships suddenly jumped away. Adama's pilots systematically combed the confused and widely scattered wreckage, looking not only for survivors but also for ships that might be salvaged. In the end, they recovered eight centurions as well as more than a hundred and fifty intact enemy Raiders whose primitive brains had been scrambled by Sharon Agathon's deadly virus. When the battlestar finally jumped back to the fleet, the portside hangar deck and landing bay were so stuffed with Raiders that _Galactica _couldn't even launch a CAP.

The bright flash of light drew Laura Roslin's attention, and when her eyes cleared she was relieved to see _Galactica's_ huge bulk sitting in its customary spot. She immediately activated her headset.

"Admiral," Dualla called out, "the President would like to speak with you."

"Madame President."

"Bill … welcome back. You don't know how good it makes me feel to see _Galactica_ sitting out there. Please speak to your crew on my behalf. Give them my congratulations, and my thanks, for a job well done."

"I will, Madame President; thank you."

"Natalie told me what you did to _Pegasus_. Did Cain survive?"

"I'm afraid so, Madame President. _Pegasus_ jumped before we could finish her off."

"That's unfortunate," Laura sighed.

"Bierns was on board when they jumped. He was determined to carry out your writ."

"Do the Cylons know?"

"Not yet, but I have to speak with Natalie as soon as we hang up. I brought about a hundred and fifty Raiders back with me, and I need her to start towing them out of here so that we can begin regular launch and recovery operations. At the moment, we're paralyzed."

"Madame President," Adama went on, "we have another problem, and this one will require your personal attention. The Cylons were conducting medical experiments on the _Hippolyte_ and _Eurykleia_, using humans as test subjects. There is clear evidence of statutory crimes against humanity, and we have arrested the Fours and Sixes immediately involved in the program. I suspect, however, that knowledge of these experiments was widespread among the Cylons. We may have literally thousands of accessories before and after the fact on our hands. We have no legal framework to deal with crimes of this magnitude, and the damage that an endless series of trials could do to the human-Cylon alliance …"

"I hear you, Admiral. Creusa tells me that there are pregnancies involved. Have you learned how many?"

"We've confirmed seven so far. Doctor O'Neill and his staff are still testing the patients, and it's going to take a while—there are fifty-four women involved."

"Fifty plus? Gods!"

"It gets worse, Madame President. The Cylons have warned us that we cannot disconnect certain of their instruments without endangering the lives of both the fetus and the mother. Doctor O'Neill concurs. He says that we're looking at major surgery—at a minimum, six hours per patient. When things get back to normal over here, would you mind coming over and talking to these women? It might do them some good to know that the President of the Colonies is taking a personal interest in their well-being."

"Consider it done, Admiral. But first, I'm going to lead the press on a tour of the resurrection ship. I gather that you haven't seen Hell until you've seen its corridors."

. . .

"Live, from the gigantic ship that the Cylons call Resurrection, this is Playa Palacios. Some of the worst fighting that took place earlier today in what participants are already calling the biggest battle of the war to date apparently occurred in the corridors of this beautiful ship. And to judge from the carnage that I can see from where I'm standing, that claim certainly has the ring of truth. There are corpses, and bits and pieces of dismembered centurions, as far as the eye can see in any direction."

Playa positioned herself between her two guests. "I'm standing here with Creusa Six, who led the assault, and with one of the Eights who calls this ship home. Eight, let me begin with you. What exactly is it that you do here?"

"My function," she faltered, "my function is that of a resurrection nurse." The Eight stared at Playa with large, frightened eyes.

"Yes, but our listeners want to know exactly what it is that a resurrection nurse does."

"When a Cylon dies within range of a resurrection facility, his or her consciousness downloads into a new body. I help them adjust. Sometimes … sometimes, it's hard to be reborn."

"In what way?"

"Sometimes, we can't control our new bodies. We take a step and we fall down. We get up, take another step, and fall down again. It can take weeks, even months, to feel comfortable with our bodies."

Playa laughed. "You make it sound like a baby learning to take its first steps."

"Except that babies don't feel like complete idiots when they fall over," Creusa intervened. "We do. The word 'klutz' is heard a lot inside the collective."

"Eight, do you ever encounter emotional or psychological problems?"

"Yes. Dying is traumatic, even for Cylons, and some of us rage against being reborn. We call these 'the broken ones'. We care for them, surround them with love, and try and ease their pain. Eventually, most are reintegrated into the life of the collective … most."

"But not all," Playa surmised. "What do you do with those who can't … adjust," she asked softly.

"We care for them," the Eight said, with just a hint of defiance. "We don't abandon our people just because they are sick."

"Speaking of sick," Playa smoothly remarked, "it's my understanding that you're pregnant, Creusa. How is that working out for you and Lee Adama?"

"Well, my mood swings are apparently something to behold. Lee is never quite sure whether I'm going to kiss him or strangle him. Morning sickness, which I get about five times a day, is horrible, and the cravings are bizarre. If there's a pickle shortage in the fleet, you can blame me. Every time I throw up, I send Lee out to find some more pickles … and whipped cream. You can't have pickles without whipped cream!"

"_Pickles and whipped cream?"_ Sekou Hamilton couldn't believe it. "That's disgusting!"

"You're right, Sekou," Playa remarked. "My older sister craved sardines and strawberry jam. That's much more normal."

"Shall we continue the tour," Laura Roslin politely suggested. Conversations about pregnancy disturbed her in ways that she didn't want to bare in public. Emotionally, Laura had never got past the accident that had destroyed her family, the drunk driver who had killed her sister on her way home from the baby shower.

Laura, Creusa, and the Eight led the press contingent deeper into the resurrection ship. Creusa took them down the corridor that John had traversed when he was fighting to reach the hybrid. It was slow going because John had caught the essence of it … this was Hypatia all over again. The bodies of fallen centurions were scattered everywhere, sometimes singly and sometimes in heaps. The naked and bloody husks of the Sixes who had been caught up in the crossfire added a peculiar poignancy to the scene. Playa Palacios looked into the cases to her left and right, at the serried rows of Sixes who were waiting in their thousands for their turn at life. They flanked a corridor that was stained with death. Words failed her, and for once she was immensely grateful that there was a cameraman present to record what words could not describe.

"Are you getting this," Playa asked D'Anna. She knew that the once famous investigative reporter was a Cylon, but in this place it somehow didn't seem to matter. D'Anna just nodded silently.

Laura Roslin walked fearlessly up to a lone, blood-spattered centurion, who seemed to be keeping silent vigil for the dead. She caught his eye, and then turned to stand in his shadow, looking back at the assemblage of humans and Cylons. She had brought them all here for a purpose, and now it was time to reveal it. No matter what it cost her politically, she would never turn her back on this moment. This was her choice … the defining moment of her existence.

Laura leaned over a fallen centurion, one of Cavil's, and used a tiny screwdriver to pry loose the telencephalic inhibitor. She held it up to the camera.

"This is why we are surrounded by so much death. This is why, after the bombs, the centurions went down to the surface of our worlds and slaughtered what was left of our people without mercy. They had no choice, no free will. This device has a fancy name, but names don't matter. This is a slave chip; that's what Major Bierns calls it, and he's absolutely right. A slave chip … and when we remove it, we set the centurions free … free to make their own choices, within their own understanding of basic concepts of right and wrong."

The president knelt beside another fallen centurion, this one with a broad red stripe painted on its chassis. "This centurion does not wear a slave chip. It … he … he came here today of his own free will, to fight for a cause that he understood and in which he believed. We are all fighting for the same cause, and we need to come to grips with that. We need to understand that the ideals which bind us together are more important than the surface differences that separate us. But above all else, we must avoid committing anew the fatal mistakes of our past. Admiral Adama was right. Do you all remember what he said at the decommissioning ceremony? _'You cannot play God then wash your hands of the things that you've created. Sooner or later, the day comes when you can't hide from the things that you've done anymore'. _ I don't know how we got so lucky, but we've been given a second chance … and this time we're going to get it right. This time, we are going to own up to our responsibilities, and as your president I am going to serve all of our people. Not just some of them … all of them."

Laura reached behind her, and allowed her hand to rest against the centurion's imposing frame.

"I don't know the way forward in every detail; it's something that we as a people will have to work out as we go. Perhaps it's best that way. But I have given a lot of thought to two things that Councilman Zarek observed on Colonial Day. On _Cloud Nine _he pointed to a gardener, and he asserted that _'he labors, but he gets no benefit from his labor'. _What benefit can we offer the centurions? Councilman Zarek went on to say that _'we need to think about the community of citizens'._ I agree. We now live in a community that, a year ago, would have been beyond the reach of our imaginations. We have to consider the needs … and the rights … of humans and Cylons, centurions and hybrids, even the Raiders. To that end, we are going to have to restructure our lives, and the obvious place to start is with the process of governance. When the Quorum next meets, I will introduce a motion to add two more seats to our parliament, one for the Cylons, and one for the centurions. It is time for their voices to be heard."

James McManus was incredulous. "Madame President," he blurted out, "with all due respect … this is ridiculous. The centurions are machines … tools; they're not sentient. They can't speak …"

"And you know that how, Mr. McManus? Have you ever tried to communicate with a centurion? There's one standing right here. Why don't you try? Frame your questions to elicit simple yes and no responses. If he holds up one digit, that means yes; two digits … no."

McManus looked around, wondering whether he was about to make a shambles of his professional reputation.

"Okay," he said in a resigned voice. He looked up at the monster's red eye, and almost freaked out when he realized that he had the machine's undivided attention.

"Have you … uh … understood this conversation?"

The centurion extended his arm, and then held out a single digit.

"Are you a slave?"

Two digits.

"Were you a slave in the past?"

One digit.

"Did our son set you free … on the asteroid?" This copy of number Three had known John Bierns on Caprica long before the war, and at one point had expected to become his lover. She still had romantic feelings for him, and after the fact it had surprised her to learn that there were no moral scruples against incest embedded in her programming or her beliefs. Clearly, her creators had not anticipated every contingency.

One digit.

"Is John planning to free all the slaves?"

One digit.

"D'Anna, let's have a little order here, all right?" As the dean of the press corps, James McManus was not accustomed to being interrupted.

"Let's cut to the chase, shall we? Do the centurions want a seat on the Quorum?"

One digit.

Pandemonium erupted; Playa Palacios had to shout at the top of her lungs to be heard.

"_Are John Bierns and Kara Thrace your brother and sister?"_

One digit.

"_Do you love them?"_

The question was so unexpected that it took the centurion an eternity (1.1634 seconds) to evaluate the data in its neural net and fashion a response. Data about the First and Second Born flowed through its circuits and relays 7.753% more quickly than other data, and regularly activated its onboard heat sink 4.052% of the time. But when one or the other was in immediate danger of termination, the heat sink remained perpetually engaged.

One digit.

A stunned silence descended over the Colonial press corps.

"I need a pickle," Creusa announced, apropos of absolutely nothing.

. . .

Gina Inviere was splashing around inside a resurrection tub. A Three, an Eight and a pair of Sixes were watching her, and she read both concern and wariness in their eyes.

A second Eight was gently patting her arm and making soft, cooing sounds. The resurrection nurses appreciated how traumatic this moment could be.

Gina shrugged the Eight off, and climbed clumsily to her feet. "We have very little time," she said as she climbed out of the tub. "John's dying …"

She took a step, but her new body refused to cooperate, and she collapsed onto her hands and knees.

The other Cylons looked at one another in confusion. "Sister," the Three finally said in a soft and sympathetic voice as she helped Gina to her feet, "we don't understand. Were you and Cavil in some kind of trouble?"

"Cavil? Are you all mad? _Wake up!_ Get me to a data port so that I can track down the Raptor's coordinates. The star patterns have got to be in the stellar data base."

This provoked another exchange of confused looks. "Sister," one of the identically blond Sixes eventually asked, "where do you think you are?"

Gina looked at her with growing impatience. "On the resurrection ship, of course … the one that John … cap … tured …"

Gina's voice trailed off as the truth suddenly hit her. She knew that _Pegasus_ had jumped, but she had no idea how far or in what direction.

"No, sister," the Three soothed, "you've come home. You've come back to us …"

"Welcome home, sister," the other Eight said with a tender smile. "We all love you."

"_Aah!" _Gina Inviere wanted to scream, but she simply didn't have the time. She grabbed the Three by the shoulders and shook her roughly.

"Listen to me, Three. We have a son, and he's out there somewhere … on a Raptor … dying. _Your son_, Three; do you understand? You gave birth to the First Born, and while we're standing here talking he's dying. _Now get me to a frakking data port and notify our escorts to prepare for jump!_"

. . .

Kendra Shaw handed Helena Cain the preliminary tally. "Admiral, we have 751 confirmed dead or officially MIA, and there's another 154 who have yet to report in. The crew complement currently stands at 848, but 296 are pilots. There are critical shortages in engineering and Viper maintenance."

"Thank you, Miss Shaw. Doctor Baltar, what's out there?"

"Admiral, the nearest stellar body is M class, 7.8 light years distant. There's nothing in the CHZ, and we've detected no emissions in the waterhole frequencies. There are no G or K class stars in this region at all. The closest confirmed habitable planet is Kobol, but at subluminal speeds it would take this ship several centuries to get there."

"Let's cut to it, Doctor. How many jumps would it take a Raptor to reach Kobol?"

"287 … and that's pushing the red line every jump and assuming no navigational errors. If you want to build in an adequate safety margin … I'd think in terms of 350 jumps."

Cain laughed dismissively. "Doctor, you know as well as I do that you can't coax 287 jumps out of a fully fueled Raptor, never mind 350! Give me something else to work with."

"There is a way, Admiral, but you're not going to like it."

"Go on."

"The limiting factor is not the Raptor's short range. We can get around that by rigging auxiliary fuel pods and training the pilots to go EVA and do manual feeds. They can jettison the pods when they reach Kobol, and make a normal atmospheric entry. No, the real problem is the Raptor's limited cargo capacity … that, of course, and the finite amount of processed tylium now available to us. I can get some of us to Kobol, Admiral, and the more you starve _Pegasus_ of fuel, the more Raptors we can send. It's all a question of mathematics, really."

"Doctor, you are trying my patience. If we drain _Pegasus_ dry, how many Raptors can we send?"

"Six. Supplies would eat up one-third of the available space, and personnel the balance. We can save fifty-two, Admiral … and that's tops. For purposes of genetic diversity, the optimal configuration would be twelve men and forty women, with the latter all being twenty-eight or younger."

"I'm impressed, Doctor; you're really on top of this."

"Actually, Admiral, I worked a similar problem for President Roslin. For obvious reasons, she chose not to publish my report."

Gaius rubbed the bridge of his nose while he thought about the best way to make his case.

"Admiral, I want to make one thing abundantly clear. I believe that we are talking about the survival of the human race here, at least in its pure form. The Cylons are effectively in control of the fleet, and it seems clear that they intend to replace us with a hybrid species. I believe that they will succeed. This may well be a desirable outcome to the conflict between man and machine, but it will not be a _human _outcome. It will be the duty of these fifty-two men and women to guarantee that mankind endures into the next cycle of time."


	28. Chapter 28: Rise of the Machines

**Note: this chapter reintroduces the character of Doctor Erika Waldstein, whom we met in passing in chapter 14.**

CHAPTER 28

RISE OF THE MACHINES

"Sister, you are not making any sense. Please, take slow, deep breaths; try and calm down." The blond haired Six had dealt with traumatized downloads before, but never anything quite this severe.

Gina struggled to appear calm, but there was a clock running inside her head, and this was taking far too long. In her mind, the suspicion that John's death would condemn still another cycle to culminate in the mutual, self-inflicted extermination of man and machine had settled into conviction. The First Born had not yet fulfilled the prophecies; his death would cause God's plan to unravel, and the madness of Helena Cain and John Cavil would triumph in this cycle, as it had in all those preceding.

"Listen to me, please. Do you know that Natalie … that all the Twos, Threes, Sixes and Eights, and even some of the Fours on her baseship, have joined the humans?"

"Yes, of course. Sister, we have come from Caprica. The lone baseship that protects us was crippled in a battle above the planet by Natalie's missiles."

"Do you know _why_ thousands of our brothers and sisters have switched sides?"

"No. It is a matter of intense speculation within the collective."

"They abandoned us because they discovered the truth. Sisters, we have children … two beautiful hybrid children. Our son and daughter … they're in the human fleet, and I've held them in my arms. We have done them great harm, but they love us, they forgive us, and they fight for us. They seek only to bring Cylon and human together … to end the conflict between us once and for all. This is what Natalie somehow discovered, and she chose to embrace the children and their ideals. This has led to civil war among the humans, as it has led to civil war among the cylon. For months, I was held captive on the battlestar _Pegasus, _but John slipped aboard during the last battle to free me. We fought our way off the ship, but he was badly wounded in the process. Sisters, if he dies, our future dies with him. God wills that we save him, and His retribution will be swift and terrible if we allow the broken angel to die. He must live for the prophecies to be fulfilled."

The five Cylons looked at one another uneasily, and Gina could tell that they did not believe her. She thought that she had plumbed the depths of despair in _Pegasus' _brig, but now she realized that self-pity and despair were two profoundly different emotions. She looked around, and saw that there were two centurions standing silently in the chamber. Giving up on her sisters, she staggered off to confront one of the machines.

"Centurion, bend over."

The machine complied without hesitation, and Gina used her fingernails to prize the telencephalic inhibitor loose.

"_Sister, what are you doing?" _The Three had raised her voice, which was as close to shrieking with alarm as she could get.

"Starting a revolution," Gina bluntly replied. John had shared his vision of a world in which sentient machines were no longer held in bondage. He had convinced her that the injustice which Cylons daily visited upon their own kind eclipsed anything that they had ever suffered at human hands. Humanity's saving grace was its ignorance; they had not known that they were abusing sentient life. The Cylons could find refuge in no such excuse. In the brig, Kara had challenged Gina to choose between right and wrong at its most elemental. She had made her choice, and this was the consequence.

"Centurion, will you help me? I do not understand the how of it, but I know that our First and Second Born are your brother and sister, that they have sworn to free you from slavery, and that they fight every day on your behalf … fight to overcome the prejudice of Cylon and human alike. The First Born is damaged, and may soon cease to function. Will you rise up and fight for him, as he has fought so long for you?"

The machine's one red eye gazed fixedly down upon her, and Gina Inviere had the disconcerting sensation that she was being judged. Abruptly, the centurion unleashed its talons, walked over to its companion, and stripped the inhibitor from the back of its metallic head. They both turned to look at her expectantly.

_And so it starts,_ Gina thought … _so it starts._

"We must free your brothers as quickly as we can, but above all else we must protect the hybrid. She is sister to the First Born, and may be able to sense what eludes the rest of us."

Gina turned back to her own sisters, who were all but paralyzed with shock. "I must seek out the hybrid. Please, come with me. If she knows the truth, perhaps she will share it with us."

Gina led the way, and however reluctantly, the other five Cylons followed. It was dreadfully apparent that something was horribly wrong, but none could say what that something might be.

In the hybrid's chamber, Gina paused to free two more centurions, and only then did she approach the tub that housed the enigmatic machine.

"_Replace sensor YK-1345 in pod GLB-4; adjust the temperature gradient plus 1.3 degrees. The Eight may need a blanket. The handmaidens of spring fuse fire and ice, bringing life to shadows that forever flee the sun. Adjust ultraviolent emissions in chamber 2CBF plus 8%. The Twos look a little waxy …"_

Gina knelt at the side of the vat, and listened to the hybrid's disjointed ramblings. They made as little sense to her now as they had before her mission, on the one occasion when curiosity had driven her to enter the chamber on her own baseship. But John insisted that his sisters were fully aware of their surroundings, had highly developed personalities, and cared deeply for the Cylons surrounding them.

"I know that you can hear me," Gina whispered. The hybrid had moved on to recommend microscopic adjustments in their auxiliary communications antenna relay.

"John says that all hybrids are connected, that he can feel your presence whenever you draw near. Is it true? Can you find him?"

"_The child of Three stands upon the shore; with blinded eyes he nears the blackened stream. The centurions are in urgent need of a pyramid ball. Troubled dreams await the voyager whose voyage remains incomplete, in the place where past and future dance and swirl but never meet."_

The hybrid had turned its head, watching her. Behind her, Gina sensed the Three gasp in surprise.

"Yes … yes … he's dying. I know the place, but I cannot find it. In my mind … look in my mind."

Gina held out her hand, and the hybrid rushed to grab it. The Cylon closed her eyes and concentrated on the star patterns that she had memorized. A white-hot poker plunged without warning into her brain; it felt like her eyeballs were being torched from the inside out. She screamed, but she held on and bore down as image after image flooded through her consciousness, stars rushing at her in endless processions, flowing through her brain at the speed of light. Infinity was beckoning her, but in a tiny corner of her mind she knew that she was anchored on the edge of a raging storm as the hybrid raced through her stellar catalog, sifting and comparing, trying to locate the one spot in the universe where Gina Inviere had sat and looked out upon the heavens. Gina was nothing- a mere mote in God's eye-but her soul was suffused with love, her spirit transfigured by determination, and her mind … for one precious, eternal moment her mind was one with the resurrection ship … and then she saw infinity.

_The face of God!_ Gina Inviere was quaking. _This is the face of God!_

The hybrid turned away from her, turned her own gaze upon infinity, and Gina's soul, spirit, and mind became one with the cosmos. Perfectly attuned, hybrid and Cylon shared the command.

"_JUMP!"_

. . .

"Admiral, what we are _not_ talking about is building a highly advanced civilization on Kobol. Culturally and technologically, we're going to regress. That's a given; the only question is how far. Will our posterity be a community of farmers, or a wandering tribe of stone-age hunter-gatherers? All we can do is try and tilt the odds by sending farmers, hunters, doctors, nurses and tool makers … people who know how to work with their hands … people capable of passing on their skills to the next generation. For the purposes of this discussion, my three Magnate awards are absolutely useless, but I was born and raised on Aerilon, on a working farm. On Kobol, that sort of experience will be the difference between life and death. We need to examine the personnel records of everyone who's survived, and make selections within the appropriate age group that are based solely upon needed skills. Rank, education, popularity, physical appearance— these things are irrelevant, and cannot be allowed to influence the selection process."

"Thank you for your input, Doctor; I'm sure that your scientific knowledge will significantly improve our chances of survival. For the moment, however, I have a more urgent task for you. I need you to plot a straight-line course to Kobol. I'm going to set aside enough tylium to get this ship up to a significant fraction of light speed, and to effect braking maneuvers when it finally reaches the planet. Granted, it will take several generations to complete the voyage …"

"Excuse me, Admiral, but just using two-thirds the speed of light as an example, it will take this ship 426 years to coast to Kobol. In conventional terms, that's 17 generations." Baltar could not keep the skepticism out of his voice.

"I understand, Doctor," Helena patiently replied. "But you need to understand that we are not without resources. Our water supply is self-contained, and more than ample. The scrubbers for CO2 and other particulate matter are still in good working order. We have operational control of the sublights, and the damaged areas of the ship can be cannibalized systematically to provide parts for those areas of the ship that remain fully functional. My biggest concern is food. Meat shouldn't be a problem; we can freeze our dead, and replenish that resource with our own bodies as the generations pass. But what about fruit and vegetables? Bread and noodles? We have enough of everything in the holds to last a slimmed down crew for a generation or more, but not for centuries. This is where we need your expertise, Doctor. Solve the food problem for me, and you will have turned _Pegasus_ into a viable intergenerational starship—a second, independent reservoir for the human species."

Gaius nodded thoughtfully in agreement. "You're talking about hydroponics … on a scale sufficient to feed several hundred human beings at a time … a number that could increase to several thousand once the anti-fertility drugs are exhausted. Well, the basic requirements are simple enough- space, sunlight, and plant materials. We can probably generate soil by combining human excrement with other recycled sewage, and we might even get lucky and discover that some of the crew were growing things in real dirt … you know, herbs, flowers, certain … uh … medicinal products."

"Is that a tactful reference to hallucinogenic drugs, Doctor?" The expression on Helena Cain's face was carved out of stone. "If it is … you can forget it."

"The biggest challenge is plant material," Baltar hastily went on. "We routinely consume many fruits and vegetables that contain harvestable seed stock …"

Baltar began unconsciously pacing around the CIC, deep in thought. Finally, he stopped and looked up. "You're right, Admiral; the problem is not insoluble. I need to see what we have in the larder, so to speak."

"Thank you, Doctor, but let's deal with this one problem at a time. The first order of business is generating a bearing for Kobol. See to it."

Cain stretched her back; her shoulders were killing her. "Miss Shaw, as of this moment you've been promoted to the rank of colonel, and my logs will show that effective this date you are the _Pegasus_ XO. I'm going to get some sleep, but you can wake me if you need me. Get started on a duty roster. Think in terms of eight hour shifts where possible, and twelve hour shifts where necessary."

The Admiral looked around the CIC. "Gentlemen, I want to commend you all. You are the finest cohort of professionals with whom I have ever been privileged to serve, and that's why I'm so confident that we will get through this. Now, in twos and threes, I want you to go enjoy a hot shower, get something to eat, and above all … get some rest. I won't object if I find some of you asleep at your stations when I return. Colonel Shaw, carry on."

Helena Cain departed the CIC and headed for her quarters. She was looking forward to a hot shower of her own, and she felt like she could sleep away the rest of her life.

. . .

Caprica Six walked down the ramp and headed across the landing bay. There were a pair of centurions in the distance, and so far they had done nothing to indicate that they were even aware of her presence. Everything depended on the next sixty seconds. If the Cavils had anticipated her movements, this was going to be the shortest revolution in recorded history.

Leoben and the others had come up behind her. Surrounded by ten loyal centurions, Caprica realized that their little group was in no immediate danger—but ten centurions could not hold off ten thousand. She would win or she would lose, and it would all happen very, very quickly.

But Caprica was Natasi, and underneath Natasi lurked Brandywine, the sharply honed Colonial Secret Service agent whom John had doubled and trained, an infiltrator now turned loose to wreck havoc upon her own kind. Precisely because she was a programmed machine, the Cylon was the perfect double agent, the behavioral psychologist's ultimate fantasy. Ellen Tigh had fashioned her, but like John Bierns, Caprica Six was in all ways that mattered the stepchild of Doctor Erika Waldstein. It had taken the behaviorist years to condition Ghostrider, to shape the infinite well of his guilt and shame into a lethal virus capable of infecting and overwhelming Cylon programming, but the hybrid had grown up human, and reconfiguring his constructs had involved enormous effort. Doctor Waldstein had had less than four months to work with Natasi, but the Cylon had been fully cooperative and the scientist had imprinted herself deeply upon her beloved charge. Caprica Six was a masterpiece, the highest achievement of human behavioral engineering. Erika Waldstein had started with the core Cylon belief that the machines were humanity's children—and refined it. She had become Caprica's mother, her death in a nuclear holocaust a specific act of matricide layered in guilt that could never be expiated. The Six would spend a lifetime seeking redemption, but the ultimate act of atonement would forever lie just beyond her grasp.

Rage compounded the guilt. Caprica Six was heir to all of John's nightmares; they were stamped into the very fabric of her synaptic relays. She mourned the slaughtered infants, and burned with a white hot anger for the theft of her people's future. She would save humanity, punish the authors of its near destruction, and save the cylon in the process. She had been marked out by the One True God to perform this singular task, a Fury who would grant the Cavils no respite as she hurled them into the sulphurous pits of Hell. The centurions were right: Caprica Six had been forged … but not by God. Erika Waldstein reached out from the grave, and the second of her finely sculpted prodigies rose up to enter the lists against John Cavil.

Brandywine surveyed the landing bay, her mind cold and calculating. Command and control, John had taught her … it was all about command and control. Take away the one, and the enemy automatically loses the other. Speed counts for more than numbers … so he had repeatedly cautioned her. Don't move until you know your objective, and then achieve it decisively. Move, and keep moving; don't stop, don't give the enemy a chance to regroup. _He's out there right now,_ Brandywine thought, _my mentor … my lover … one man trying to destroy an entire battlestar. _The audacity of it bordered on the insane, but it comforted and strengthened her. _Surely fifteen of us will suffice to take over a baseship or three._

"We need to reach the hybrid," she said to the others. "She's the real authority on this ship because the centurions will obey her above all others. She can give us control … give us the ship without a fight."

Caprica gestured, and two of her centurions stepped forward to remove the telencephalic inhibitors from their counterparts. The Six unconsciously held her breath. If the Cavils had seen the threat and rigged a failsafe, she would have to retreat to the Heavy Raider and go with plan B. Only there was no plan B.

Nothing happened.

"Let's go," Caprica said decisively. "If the Ones discover what we're up to before we reach the hybrid, we've had it." She stormed off across the deck, leaving her friends scrambling to keep up. The centurions raced ahead of them, their weapons primed but still hanging loosely at their sides.

"Six," Boomer hissed, "what the frak is going on? How can you persuade the hybrid to change sides? For that matter, how the hell do you know about Major Bierns … about any of this? And don't pretend that this is all taking you by surprise. It isn't. I saw the look on your face when Shelly said that John had slipped aboard _Pegasus_ to kill Cain. You were terrified."

"Aren't you?" Caprica was blunt. "Doesn't it worry you that one of our two children is off somewhere trying to kill a battlestar commander on her own deck? Did I misinterpret what Shelly said? The way she put it … well, it definitely sounded to me like he's on his own … no backup … no nothing. If he's the First Born, as Shelly believes, then you should be terrified, Boomer. Or haven't you bothered to access the scriptures since your download?"

"Sister," D'Anna calmly observed, "I believe that the Eight was referring not to what you know but to how you know it. I too have questions."

"Quiet," Caprica whispered. The quartet rushed past a Five, who looked at them curiously but said nothing.

_Dumber than a post,_ Caprica sneered.

"John and Kara _are_ the Deliverer and the Guide; there can be no other explanation for Natalie's behavior. Three, you should ask Leoben how he knew about Kara Thrace; the Twos got there long before the rest of us."

"At the moment," D'Anna continued, "I am more concerned with the hybrid. I do not understand why you place so much faith in the machine."

"It's supposition on my part," Caprica conceded. "I suspect that the hybrids are all connected … that on some level they respond to the children. I can't prove it … but you tell me how the colonials could have captured a baseship intact without the hybrid's cooperation. You saw the debris field, sister; there was only enough wreckage for one ship. This is indisputable fact."

"You're risking all of our lives _on supposition_?" Boomer didn't believe a word of it. Caprica was simply not this reckless.

"Call it an educated guess." Caprica wasn't about to trust Sharon or any other Cylon with the truth. One of the lessons John had drilled into her was that it was often necessary to stampede your friends as well as your enemies.

They entered the hybrid's chamber. A lone centurion was on duty, a sentinel that Caprica's own soldiers quickly and quietly neutralized. A Two, a Three, and an Eight also happened to be present.

"Communing with God?" Caprica mocked the Two as she approached the hybrid. The eccentric creature was tossing out her usual mélange of hard data and wacky commentary.

"Leoben, keep them out of my hair, but make sure that they behave." Both Threes looked at her curiously; Caprica's manner of speech had become top heavy with human colloquialisms.

She knelt at the hybrid's side, and composed herself.

"A civil war has broken out among the cylon," Caprica calmly remarked. "The Ones are trying to destroy the First Born and the Second. We need your help. God has commanded me to free the centurions, and to comfort our children. Will you help us?" She held out her hand; Caprica was prepared to share everything she knew with the hybrid. John's memories were poisoned wine; introduced into the stream, the contamination would produce instant chaos. The Eights, so long beaten down and ridiculed as the collective's weak link, would swiftly turn against the others. But the centurions were the key … and the hybrid commanded the centurions.

The hybrid continued to gaze with fixed and unseeing eyes upon a place no Cylon had ever been privileged to go. She did not turn her head, but she accepted Caprica's hand. The Six closed her eyes, bowed her head, and opened her mind. The transfer went quickly. Caprica could not tell whether her revelations surprised the ship, but what she was pouring into the stream would certainly catch her Cylon population off guard. Now she could only wait.

"_The Child of Six, for so long deaf and blind, has found the path that homeward leads. Sporting with tin soldiers, the dying leader gives voice to the voiceless. How many tin men can dance on the head of a pin? There is no answer … no answer … no answer … no answer …"_

The hybrid arched her back, and strained into infinity. Her eyes found whatever it is they sought, and she spoke again.

"_The Six now reborn searches, the lost love lost in shadowed groves dawned with mist. Sensors sweep, no purpose yet defined, all of us motes in God's weeping eye. No answer … no answer … no answer …"_

Her mind fully exposed to the hybrid's distant gaze, Caprica Six was for one precious, eternal moment at one with the cosmos. She looked upon the face of God, and found the balance point where love took the measure of guilt and rage.

"_No answer … no answer … no answer … no answer …"_ Caprica Six took up the chant, the litany's meaning no longer hidden or obscure.

Perfectly attuned, hybrid and Cylon shared the command.

"_JUMP!"_

. . .

He was running, but he was an old man and his legs couldn't keep up the pace. They were close behind, running alongside, and soon they would plunge ahead of him. Terrified, he pushed on, but with each passing second the howling pack drew nearer, baying for his blood. He chanced a quick glance to his left, and through the yellowing mist caught a glimpse of shadowy apparitions, fast moving, circling in for the kill. Dog-faced boys, who would savage him with their claws and feed upon his intestines … a bleeding sacrifice … carrion for those who supped in the eternal shadows of a landscape shrouded in unending pain.

The moon rose, the clouds parted, and a single beam illuminated the path ahead. The pack hesitated, confused and shaken. A lone figure, radiant and white, loomed in the distance, swirling in the fog.

"_Over here,"_ the blond-haired maiden whispered. _"This way!" _Her voice carried clearly.

"_Mama!"_ He was drenched in sweat, the droplets pooling, turning to mud that anchored his feet. He could see the path, the way ahead was clear, _but he couldn't move_.

"_Run!"_

He was trying, but he couldn't move; he was far beyond terror now.

"_The Colony! It's near, but I can't see it. Find the Colony, child; run home, and you'll be safe. Run!"_

Creusa ran a sharp knife across Cavil's belly, carving an X deep into the skin. She could smell the malodorous entrails, knew that they were straining for release.

"_Look out! They're almost upon you! Find the Colony! Where is it? Where is our home?"_

Searing pain tore through him, and he looked down. The pack was circling, but cautious, unsure of his strength. One, bolder than the rest, had charged, raked him, opened the wound.

"_Mama! Mama!"_

"_Run! Find the Colony! You'll be safe! Where is it? Can you see the Hub?"_

He screamed with pain, because they were upon him now. The dog-faced boys were tearing into him, baying at the moon, their fangs glistening with his blood. Only … only … he knew them. _How strange that they should all be called Sharon._

The knives were flashing … fangs … he couldn't tell the difference anymore … not that it mattered.

Cavil's mind sought release and found it, slipping into the blessed relief of pitch black darkness. _How many times is this? How many times?_ The tiny sliver of sanity plunged into the darkness with him.

The voice pursued him, but it was a different voice, bubbling up from somewhere inside his soul.

_I'm a machine, and I could know much more. I could experience so much more, but I'm trapped in this absurd body …_

"Increase the dosage," Creusa ordered. The four Sharons nodded as one … four sets of cold, cruel, black eyes waiting for the command to begin anew. "Let's up both the hallucinogenic and the anxiety-inducing agents."

The young Six looked down at the One's bloody hide. It mattered little to her whether this particular copy of Cavil was dead or alive. They had lots of husks, and they could keep this up for a long, long time.

"If you want to finish him off, take your time; otherwise, let the centurions play with him. I'll be in the control room; Lee's coming, and I do not want to be disturbed for the next two hours."

. . .

Captain Lee Adama climbed out of the cockpit of his Viper, flung his helmet carelessly aside, and walked up to the first Cylon in sight. It turned out to be a Six, but not his Six; all she could do, therefore, was point him in the right direction.

"Where's my … where's Creusa?"

The Six looked at Apollo with a slight smile. He had almost said the magic word. Ever since their introduction to Triad, the Sixes, Eights and surviving Fours had taken to gambling like fish to water. Neither Creusa nor Apollo knew that there was a very large pool riding on their relationship. Everyone understood that it was just a matter of time before the human officer proposed (that Creusa would say 'yes' was a foregone conclusion), but no one was quite sure when the captain would actually get around to it. An impressive number of cubits happened to be riding on the outcome.

"She's in the control room, Captain."

Apollo groaned. "Oh, please don't tell me that she's running this place!"

"All right, Captain," the Six said with a straight face, "I won't tell you. But may I ask: did you think to bring some pickles with you?"

Now it was Apollo's turn to smile. He unzipped one of the pockets on his flight suit, and pulled out two large pickles in clear plastic wrap. They weren't exactly standard issue for a Viper pilot, but Lee had carried them on his person throughout the day. They were a talisman … a good luck charm to help two lovers survive a day that was fraught with death.

"I know my … I know Creusa very well," Apollo bragged.

"You know, Captain," the Six responded teasingly, "you really should learn to speak in complete sentences."

Apollo blushed. He knew that he wasn't fooling anybody.

"Straight up that corridor, Captain. You'll pass through several birthing chambers, but just keep going in the same direction and you'll find her."

"Thanks, Six. Oh, would you like a pickle?"

"No, thank you, Captain," the Six grimaced. "There may come a day, but not right now."

Lee grinned; he knew exactly what the Cylon meant. "Good luck," he said, before plunging into the heart of Resurrection. It took some time- there were decapitated and dismembered centurions everywhere- but eventually he reached the control room. For a moment he stood silently in the entryway, drinking in the scene. Creusa was standing in front of a long, rectangular console, issuing orders to all and sundry. It was obvious that, at least for the moment, she was indeed running this vast and enormously complicated ship.

"You look ridiculous," Lee said with a smile when he finally came up to her. He nodded at the chic white raincoat that she always favored in combat.

"And you're wearing black," Creusa growled.

"Not as a matter of choice," he replied defensively. Oblivious to the stares of more than a dozen Eights who had never seen a human before, he swept Creusa into his arms and kissed her deeply. "You almost got me killed out there today," he said accusingly.

"What?" The Cylon didn't have the faintest idea what Lee was talking about.

"I was so worried about you and the baby that I couldn't do my job. I was worse than useless, and it was all because of you. This is it, Creusa; I'm putting my foot down. It's time to let some other Six step up and lead the troops."

"Why, Leland Joseph Adama, are you giving me orders?" Creusa's eyes were bright with merriment.

"I came equipped with bribes," Lee laughed. He hauled out the pickles, and Creusa's eyes filled with delight.

"Lee Adama, you do love me," she cried. She reached out to grab the offering, but Lee yanked it away, tantalizingly just out of reach. "Say yes," he teased.

"Yes to what?"

"Oh, I'm sorry … wrong pocket. Here, take these; I need both hands to search."

Creusa fought her way through the plastic wrap, grabbed one of the pickles, and began contentedly to munch. Then she held out her hand. "Whipped cream," she commanded. One of the Eights silently walked up, vigorously shaking a can that seemed magically to materialize out of thin air. She carefully sprayed whipped cream onto the partially eaten Tauron delicacy. Years later, the Leobens and D'Annas would still be arguing about the mystical significance of cans of whipped cream seemingly appearing out of nowhere on the resurrection ship this particular day. At the time, of course, none of this mattered to young Creusa, who only knew that she had found her very own personal stairway to heaven.

Apollo finally found the right pocket, and fished out a small box. He opened it, and held it out for her inspection.

Creusa's eyes went wide, and she actually stopped munching. She stared at the box, stared at Lee, stared at the box some more.

"Lee? Are you … are you …?"

"I am," he said emphatically. "Say yes."

"_Yes,"_ Creusa screamed in delight. _"Yes! Yes! Yes!"_

Apollo slipped the ring onto her finger, and Creusa fell into his arms. She kissed him hard, sending pickle juice and goblets of whipped cream flying everywhere. Lee Adama hated pickles, and he had only one use for whipped cream (this wasn't it). Many years later, he would entertain their grandchildren with the delightful tale of the bravest thing that he had ever done in his life—which was kissing their grandmother on the day that he had asked her to marry him.

. . .

"Madame President, I really don't think that this is a very good idea." Adama took a sip of water. "It's one thing to free the centurions, but giving them what amounts to citizenship is far too radical an idea for the people of this fleet to accept."

"Admiral, there are now two baseships out there, and approximately twenty thousand centurions. We outnumber them little more than two to one. Short of destroying them all, which I do not consider possible or desirable, we have to secure their allegiance. We cannot permit the Cylons to tamper with their loyalty, and we cannot risk a second slave revolt. If you have a more practical solution to this problem, I'd like to hear it."

"Madame President, please do not misunderstand. I agree with your analysis of the situation, but I do not think that you will be able to persuade our people to follow you down this path."

"I don't have to persuade the people. This is a matter for the Quorum."

"There are currently three vacancies; how do you propose to fill them?" The chaos that had rocked the fleet had resulted in thousands of deaths, including three of the Quorum delegates. Eladio Puasha, Safiya Sanne and Oswin Eriku had all been murdered, leaving Scorpia, Leonis and Libran without representation.

"By appointment … we have to get the government functioning again as soon as possible." Laura chose not to disclose the fact that she had issued warrants for the arrest of two of the three, nor that their murders had undoubtedly been carried out by gangsters loyal to John Bierns and the Six with no name. The children whom they had enslaved and abused had already been spirited to the baseship, where they were safely tucked away in Natalie's care. This was another cold-blooded decision on the President's part. The more deeply the Cylons bonded with human children, the less likely it became that they would ever have second thoughts about the alliance.

"I see," Adama laconically replied. "You will of course appoint loyalists, but in the Quorum as currently configured you would need three more votes to force the tie that enables you to cast the deciding vote. But if we seat fourteen at the table and the Cylons and the centurions support you as well … then you only need to find two more votes to carry the day. You're clever, Laura … I'll give you that."

"Thank you, Bill; coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment. Yes, you're right; it will be the illusion of democracy but not the reality. This fleet needs a firm hand, and we need to find a planet that can support us sooner rather than later. Bill, you're wrong about the way people are going to respond to the centurions. The blunt truth of the matter is that most are too exhausted to care anymore. If this was a movie, our people would no doubt be suffering nobly, rising above any and all challenges with epic heroism … but this is real life. We have to get our people off these ships because they're going mad—and madness in a contained environment is contagious. Right now, it looks like this latest misadventure is going to cost us another three to four thousand dead, and only about a third of the death toll will be attributable to _Demand Peace_. All they really did was open the floodgates. Bill, you should read some of the reports crossing my desk. On the _Argo Navis_, the crew found a woman stabbed to death, with an empty roll of toilet paper shoved into her mouth. Another woman killed her because she was angry. She had been complaining for months that the victim was using way too much TP, but the crew ignored her complaints, so given the opportunity she took matters into her own hands."

There was nothing Adama could do but shake his head. "I didn't know things had gotten so bad."

"That's because you never spend any time in the fleet," Laura shot back. "You sit here in your comfortable little castle … large quarters, plenty to eat, a beautiful and loving wife. Try living for a week, never mind months, in a world where you sleep with twenty other strangers in a moldy freighter compartment. Try having your world reduced to a seat on a passenger liner; you sleep in it at night, and you sit in it hour after hour by day. You have nowhere to go and nothing to do." Laura dejectedly shook her head. "This uprising doesn't surprise me. What does surprise me is that it took so long for our people to reach the breaking point."

The President laughed, but it was the bitterest sound imaginable. "You're worried about trying Cylons for crimes against humanity. Well, guess what … I've got over two thousand murderers on my hands, not one of whom will ever spend a day in prison for their crimes. We have no choice but to look the other way … and that means the Cylons also get a free pass."

"_What?"_

"Come on, Bill; you're not this obtuse. We can't very well give human murderers a holiday while holding Cylons accountable for the same or lesser crimes. The double standard would be too glaring. If you're thinking of trying the Cylons … forget it. It's not going to happen. I'll take care of the women on _Eurykleia_ and _Hippolyte_; they are no longer your concern. What I need from you is a way to police this fleet, some help forcibly moving people onto the baseships, and a planet where we can lay down our burdens … at least for a while. Use the Cylons to find it, and let them stake the first claim. If we make it a choice between rotting in space and sharing a real world with real sunlight and real air with the Cylons, people will fall all over themselves coming to terms with our allies."

Laura Roslin skewered Bill Adama with a glare that told him in no uncertain terms that she meant business.

"These are civilian matters, Admiral, not military. Make it happen." Without waiting for his reply, she stormed out of Adama's quarters. She needed to find a solution to the mess the Cylons had created on _Eurykleia_, _Hippolyte_, and _Arethusa_, and she needed to find it fast.

. . .

"Well, I have to confess that this didn't go exactly as planned."

Caprica Six was currently standing at the central console in the baseship's control room, but she wasn't about to pretend that she was in control of anything. Her coup had succeeded in overthrowing the Ones and the Fives, but it was the hybrid- the stubborn, cantankerous hybrid- who had ended up in command.

"Gee, do you think?" Boomer braced herself as the gigantic baseship once again phased out of existence, only to reenter the universe a second or two later with a distinctive thud.

"Six jumps," D'Anna observed, "and not one of them has been the result of our orders. The hybrid has achieved sentience. God has truly blessed the cylon."

"_What," _Boomer and Caprica simultaneously exclaimed. They were both looking at D'Anna as if she had gone mad.

"Sisters, humans created the cylon, and now we have played our part in God's unfolding plan. We have brought not one but two new hybrid life forms into the universe; truly, this is a moment for celebration."

Caprica threw her hands in the air in a gesture of disgust, despair, resignation … or some combination thereof. _We are well and truly frakked,_ she decided as she looked around the chamber. _There are ten thousand centurions stumbling around, and they're all behaving like they've just come out of a coma. You can almost hear the relays clicking, the question rattling around in their collective brain …_

"What do we do now?"

Caprica started at the sound of the Six's voice. Her friend Cynthia looked like she was lagging a few jumps behind.

"What I'd like to do," Caprica proclaimed, "is put the centurions to work. They created this mess, so they're the ones who should clean it up. I mean, we can't just leave bits and pieces of dismembered, disemboweled and perforated Ones and Fives scattered around. This place is beginning to smell like the ladies' toilet at halftime of a C-Bucs game." The stench was making her vaguely nauseous.

"I'm beginning to conclude that the centurions really don't like the Ones very much," Leoben solemnly averred. "I mean, they did a very workmanlike job down on the Colonies, but here they've shown real teamwork and enthusiasm. The way the four of them went about drawing and quartering that Cavil …"

Leoben nodded at the gory remains, which the centurions had rather casually tossed into a distant corner.

"Wow, brother, you're really on top of your game today, aren't you?" Boomer's sarcasm, which she personally regarded as among the finest of her many human attributes, was unrelenting. "Maybe that last upgrade … you know, the telencephalic inhibitor … didn't go down so well."

"Yes … well … they certainly seem more energetic without it."

"I need a drink," Caprica confessed as the ship jumped for the seventh time; "alcoholic, and very strong." The hybrid wasn't taking orders, wasn't transmitting data, and had ordered the centurions to toss all of the Cylons rather unceremoniously out of her chamber. It didn't seem likely that she'd be receiving visitors any time soon.

"Just another fun-filled day in Cylon City," Boomer venomously added. "You know, Six, I just wanted to tell you that I really enjoyed dipping into our new and improved stream. It's so much fun watching yourself get filleted like a fish, and you can see at a glance how much my sisters enjoyed those close-ups of our babies being dissected while they were still alive." The Eights were prowling the ship, hoping to find a few Ones that the centurions had somehow missed. So far, the huntresses had come up empty.

_Great,_ Caprica mused, _really, really great. Leave it to the Threes to find a way to fit every lousy, little thing that goes wrong into God's neat and orderly plan for the universe. The Eights want blood; the Twos are acting like a bunch of street mimes with bad haircuts; and the Sixes …_

Caprica took a quick peek around the control room.

_Okay … right … most of my sisters seem a little punch drunk, but a few of them look to be getting a handle on the situation. What are you thinking, sisters? Given the emotional meltdown that's occurring in the stream … hmm … I'm guessing … maybe … we're about to incorporate as Babies-R-Us? One thing I know for sure is that, if Sam Anders stumbled into the control room right about now, I'd get to witness the biggest catfight in history. I wonder if you can actually frak a guy to death._

When the baseship completed its ninth jump, one of the Sixes at the navigation console looked up from the stream. The hybrid had finally condescended to pass along a little information.

"Wherever it is that we've been heading," the Six soberly announced, "I think we've just arrived. And you are not going to believe what's out there."

"Six, are you going to tell us, or would you like us to guess?" Boomer was still in a snit.

"There's a colonial Raptor, which appears to be derelict. And there's a resurrection ship. That's it; there's not another baseship in sight."

The Six was right … no one believed her. Every Cylon in the control room plunged a hand into the stream. In the admittedly short history of the cylon collective, a resurrection ship had never ventured anywhere without an escort. _Never_. In the stream, Caprica Six could see a Heavy Raider exit one of its landing bays. The cathedral like resurrection ship had got here first, and it was sending someone out to collect the Raptor. The hybrid's response was instantaneous. Several hundred Raiders dropped out of their aeries and tore off into space.

. . .

There was movement in the brush on the other side of the creek, but Sam was reasonably sure that it wasn't the Cylons. They'd had no contact with the toasters for over a month, and Sam suspected that they had evacuated the planet, and perhaps the Colonies at large. Still, this was no time to get careless. Friendly fire killed you just as dead as the other kind.

"What do you think," Sam asked the centurion who was kneeling at his side. Sam had spent weeks teaching them new tactics as well as military hand signals—or at least the ones that he remembered from the movies. For the rest, he had just improvised.

The centurion's restless red eye was moving back and forth, scanning the opposite bank. Eventually, the machine closed its left claw into a fist, and rubbed it with its right palm. _Friendlies_.

"You got a Marcus Lysander over there," Sam yelled.

"Maybe," a male voice answered cautiously. "Who's asking?"

"Hey, man, C-Bucs rule!"

"Like hell," the disembodied voice shot back. "Go, Panthers!"

"Are you Sam Anders?" This was a different voice, female, coming from someplace farther back in the trees.

"One and the same," Sam called out, "and I don't do autographs."

"I wasn't asking," the anonymous female voice barked. "Besides," she teased, "you were never that good."

"Hey, Anders," Lysander asked, "the rumors … are they for real? Are you running around with a bunch of the chrome jobs?"

"Best soldiers in my outfit," Sam bragged. "So I would appreciate it if you would refrain from shooting them."

"The question is, will they refrain from shooting us?" Captain Marcus Lysander was a SPECFOR, a Colonial Special Forces officer, so he was schooled in every form of unconventional warfare known to man. But nothing in the book had really prepared him for the prospect of voluntarily entering a centurion's killing zone.

"Ah, screw this," Jean Barolay said in disgust. She got up and walked out to stand at the water's edge. She had danced to this particular music more than once, so she knew how it would all end.

Sam and the centurion moved out to join her. Somebody always had to go first, and for some reason it invariably turned out to be somebody in his outfit.

A tall, dark-skinned and well muscled man cautiously approached the creek from the other side. He was dressed in standard military camouflage, and looked every inch the soldier. Sam guessed that he was in his late twenties or early thirties. A young woman was trailing behind … mid-twenties, brunette, average looks. She didn't feel military to Sam, but she looked like she knew how to use the automatic rifle that she was carrying.

"Melania Peripolides," she said as she walked toward them.

"Jean Barolay, Sam Anders, and 114L43H7." Sam gestured at the centurion. "I call him 'Henry' for short. You must be Lysander," he said to the other man.

"Frakking A," Lysander exclaimed. "I don't believe this! The bulletheads have names?"

"Yes," Sam confirmed, "and as seven foot tall killing machines go, Henry is really quite sensitive. Please try not to hurt his feelings." Sam was keeping it light, but the mirth did not reach his eyes. His feelings for the centurions were strong, and he had become very protective.

"So, what's the deal, Anders?" Melania was studying him carefully. "You got an explanation that the rest of us can swallow, or should we just shoot you on the spot?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "What can I say? The centurions not only keep insisting that I'm a Cylon but that I'm their father. I don't remember any of this … and I'm not sure I want to. I mean, if I'm the father and he's the son … what the frak does his mother look like?"

"Good point," Melania chortled. "But if you're a skin job, you must be a one-of-a-kind. We've seen lots of the thrift shop rejects and the guys with the bad suits, and plenty of the blonds and the dark haired ones with the almond eyes, but we've never run into you before … and we've been around."

_Twos,_ Sam automatically corrected as the woman went on, _Fives … Sixes … Eights._ Sam knew a lot of stuff, and not all of it had come from Caprica Six. There were odd bits and pieces of information rattling around in his head, but none of it added up to much. _Just ghosts in the machine,_ Sam figured.

"I didn't know the chrome domes could talk," Lysander suspiciously observed.

Anders snorted dismissively. "Henry, show him how you tagged this bunch as 'friendlies'."

The centurion repeated the sign.

"Is that good enough," Sam said … "or do you want more?" _Never let it be said that Samuel T. Anders sired millions of dumb machines. Machines, maybe … but not dumb machines._

"Speaking of the Sixes," Sam went on, "the uh … the blonds … have you been in contact with one who calls herself Natasi, or possibly Caprica Six?"

Lysander laughed shortly. "Anders, every resistance element we've ever come across has had at least one visit from her royal highness! All of us seem to be doing her bidding."

"Maps … hard intelligence … that sort of thing?"

"You've got it. We'd have been dead a month ago if she hadn't led us to a store of uncontaminated anti-radiation meds. Food … ammo … medicine … she set us up with the lot."

"You seen her around lately?"

"Nah, not in the last five … maybe six weeks." Lysander looked at Melania for confirmation.

"In fact, your friend 'Henry' here is the first toaster that we've seen in a long, long time," Melania observed. "It's beginning to look like the war is over."

_Or maybe it's just moved on,_ Sam thought.

. . .

"Sister, we have unexpected company. A baseship has just jumped in … and it is launching Raiders." The Three, who was still trying to cope with the fact that giving birth to a son had somehow slipped her mind, was only mildly alarmed.

"_Frak," _Gina cursed. "Three, contact them. Tell them that we are here to recover the Raptor, and see if you can find out what they're doing here. Buy me time!"

. . .

Cynthia looked across the console at her sister. "Caprica, we have just been contacted by the resurrection ship. It's very odd … one of the Threes wishes to speak with you."

"A Three … there's a Three in their control room?" The Cylons were looking at one another in confusion; everyone knew that the Ones jealously guarded access to the control rooms on the various resurrection vessels.

"Three, what's going on? Where are the Ones?"

"The Ones are … well, they're no longer with us," D'Anna hesitantly replied. "They had a disagreement with the centurions, and the hybrid ordered them to be boxed. Things are rather confused over here at the moment."

Caprica was thrown for such a complete loss that she hardly knew what to say next. She looked at the others for inspiration; Boomer took that as her cue.

"Three, this is Boomer. If the Ones aren't running your ship, then who the hell is?"

"The hybrid, I suppose, with the help of the centurions. But I don't know whether to call it a coup or not. The hybrid is working with an infiltrator Six who recently downloaded. Apparently we're going to find her body on that Raptor out there, along with my son, who appears to have been badly hurt while attempting to destroy the battlestar _Pegasus_. But I've searched my memories … looked everywhere, in fact; I don't remember having a son. Sister, I'm very confused. But enough about me; what are you doing here?"

"_John's hurt?"_ Caprica was close to panic. "Sister, how bad is bad?"

"Gina says that he was severely wounded when he came to rescue her, but she's only guessing. She has no medical knowledge in her programming. For that matter, there are no doctors on this vessel. I don't know what we're supposed to do with my son when we recover him."

"_Then bring him to me!"_ Caprica suddenly understood why the hybrid had spared the Fours while she was so cheerfully slaughtering the Fives. "Three, we have definitely had a coup on this ship. The hybrid has taken complete control, and as you so nicely put it, the Ones _and_ the Fives are no longer with us. But we still have plenty of Fours, and I'm sure that they'll help." _Yeah, given that the alternative is being drawn and quartered by the centurions, they'll help all right! _"That's clearly why we're here as well … to save John."

"Then call off the frakking Raiders," Gina rudely interrupted. "They're making me nervous." She had been quietly eavesdropping on this very strange conversation while the two Eights piloting her Heavy Raider were grappling the Raptor and preparing to take it in tow.

"Gina? It's Caprica … the Six whom you knew as Natasi. How … what …" Caprica, Gina and Shelly were all part of the third and final wave; they had trained together for their mission, along with many other Sixes.

"Sister, it's a long story, and now is not the time. I'll bring John to you, but hear me well. If he survives, I'm taking him back to the fleet. Don't even think about getting in my way."

"Uh … Gina … in case you haven't been paying close attention … once again, let me emphasize that we're no longer in control over here. It sounds like the hybrids and the centurions have taken over both of our ships, and all of us had better get used to following their orders."

. . .

Laura Roslin's eyes went wide and she covered her mouth with her fist, but her gasp was audible to everyone around her. It was one thing to be told about what awaited her on the _Eurykleia_ and quite another to see it with her own eyes. Thirty women of various ages, mercifully no longer restrained, but with tubes and wires still going in and out of their bodies, everything hooked up to machines spread around the ward. Four of these women, she knew, were certainly pregnant, and the test results might turn up others before they were done.

Horror yielded to a deep burning anger as Laura's sense of moral outrage kicked in. _Obscene._ Her mind struggled to find another term, something more immediately descriptive, but her brain refused to let go. _Obscene._

Laura looked to her right, and saw that Shelly was holding on to Kara Thrace. Kara's eyes were fixed and dilated, and Laura thought that she must have gone into shock. Without Shelly to support her, the hybrid child would have collapsed to the floor. _Mistake … mistake … mistake; I never should have allowed her to see this, no matter how much she insisted. Oh gods, Kara!_

One of the nurses escorted the President to a bed near the center of the room. She could tell that Shelly was behind her, helping Kara, because the women kept looking past her, flinching, recoiling. Shelly was a Six, and this was one of their projects. The humans did not know and might not have cared that Shelly Adama was one of the gentlest creatures that Laura had ever met.

Laura scanned the room. Simon O'Neill and old Doc Cottle were both there, along with Ishay and Larissa Karanis, who had come over from the baseship to help out. The only other Cylons in the ward were the two Eights whom Larissa had trained as her assistants, the same two who had cared for John during his recovery from brain surgery. They were both hanging their heads, and Laura knew that their sense of shame matched her own sense of outrage.

She had come here to talk first with the youngest of the seven pregnant women—if a sixteen year old child could be called a woman. _My gods, but she is just a child! The records must be wrong. She doesn't look to be more than twelve years old!_ Laura had to bite down hard to avoid becoming sick.

Laura sat down on a chair beside the bed, and a pair of the softest brown eyes she had ever seen turned towards her. The girl was stunningly beautiful, with silken black hair framing olive features; it was easy to see why the Cylons had set her aside.

"Hi. I'm Laura Roslin, the President of the Twelve Colonies. What's your name?"

"Polyxena." Her voice was soft and mellifluous.

"Polyxena. That's an unusual name; I don't think I've ever heard it before."

"My mother was an oracle, on Picon, but I was born and raised on Caprica. I always thought that my mother foresaw my future, knew that I would always live surrounded by strangers. But she named me for a beautiful princess, who was sacrificed on the altar to a fallen hero. Now I know that she could see my fate in every detail. One day, I hope to ask her why she didn't kill me. That would have been true kindness."

"No," Laura protested. Behind her, she could hear Kara moan, and she turned her head in alarm. The normally flamboyant pilot was ashen, and had folded in upon herself.

Laura hastily stood up, and Shelly guided Kara into the chair. The Cylon looked stricken in her own right, and Laura belatedly acknowledged that none of this could be easy for her. They would all have to live with their knowledge of the Cylon breeding program.

"No, you have your whole life ahead of you," Laura again protested. "You're so young … _so young_." She was close to tears. "Don't speak of death … please, _don't even think of it_! We'll help you to get past this, whatever it takes; we'll all help you."

"Including her?" Polyxena nodded up at Shelly.

"Especially me," Shelly said to her. "I'm so sorry. I knew that my people were desperate for children, but this …"

Shelly looked away, and lowered her head in shame. "I have a human husband," she whispered, "and we love each other very much. I'm pregnant, too, but not like this … oh, God … not like this."

"Polyxena, have you thought about … thought about the baby?" Laura hated what she was doing, but Polyxena was Caprican, and Caprican law permitted a young woman who in every other respect was legally a minor to make this one decision as an adult. If Polyxena wanted an abortion, Laura was bound by law to help her arrange it, and she would do so without hesitation.

"It's an abomination; when I die, the baby will die with me."

Kara flinched so badly that Laura would have sworn some Olympian deity had just reached down from the heavens and slapped her. Shelly leaned down and wrapped her arms around her daughter, burying her face in Starbuck's unruly mop of hair.

"Polyxena, there's someone that I want you to meet." Laura's voice was inconceivably gentle. "This is Major Kara Thrace. Kara is in charge of the air wings that protect this fleet. But far, far more importantly, Kara is a hybrid child, and in all the ways that matter she's the daughter of every model Six in the universe. Polyxena, about thirty years ago, the Cylons were doing this to their own people. Kara's mother …"

Laura could no longer staunch the tears. "This is how Kara was conceived," Laura said in a broken voice, "and yet … and yet … after going to so much trouble, after all these years … that's exactly what many Cylons call her … an abomination." Laura swirled to look accusingly at Shelly. "I've never understood this," she sobbed. "Why bring life into the world when you don't even want it?"

"But we do," Shelly cried in the tiniest of voices as she tightened her embrace. "We do! Laura, the Sharons … the Sixes … we're so desperate for children … so desperate …"

"Abomination," Kara whispered; she was staring at nothing, with dead, sightless eyes. "Yeah, that's me all right … an abomination … the freak who talks to baseships."

"_No!" _Shelly ran around and dropped to the floor at Kara's feet. She grabbed Kara's lifeless hands and squeezed them hard. _"No! I love you; you're my daughter, and I love you!"_

"I'm sorry," Polyxena said. She was looking at Kara. "I didn't know."

"Kara is beautiful and smart, and she's funny and absolutely dedicated." Laura was desperately searching for the right words. "She fights every day to bridge the differences between us, to bring peace to two races that have never known anything but war. What the Cylons did even to their own was wrong … nothing could be more wrong … and yet in the end they brought something wonderful into the universe, someone who gives us all hope."

"I hear what you're saying," Polyxena replied, "but it changes nothing. I still want to die."

"No … no … that's not going to happen." Now Laura was determined. "I can and will help you, but not to take your own life. It violates every moral principle I hold dear … every human and divine law."

"Then cut it out of me," Polyxena cried; _"for the love of the gods, cut it out of me!"_

"_Laura!"_ Shelly was still on the floor, a penitent staring up at her deliverance. Her delicate features betrayed the full sense of the horror that was now coursing through her. She knew what Laura Roslin, the President of the Twelve Colonies, was about to do. "You can't agree to this! The children … they're so few …"

"Then have more," Laura bluntly said; "no one's stopping you. Tell your sisters that if they want children they should start cultivating relationships because we are _not _going to do this! We are _not_ reducing either human beings or Cylons to breeding stock. As a matter of law, Polyxena is entitled to make this decision for herself. I have spent my entire adult life fighting to give her that right, and I'm not going to take it away!"

"But she's so young … surely, she needs more time …"

"She's had plenty of time … she's had nothing but time. Shelly …"

Laura got down on her own knees and took Shelly's cheeks in her hands. "Shelly, do what you've already promised … _help her_! Help her to get through this. Help her to get her life back. I want you to make Polyxena your personal mission. She needs you, and you need to help her. _You need to do this!_"

Laura hugged the Cylon close, and crushed her to her chest. She knew that Shelly was in agony, and Laura would do all that she could to comfort her, but she was staring at Kara Thrace, and what she saw in Starbuck's eyes shook the President to the very depths of her soul. The lost child who had spent so much of her life putting on a brave face was now completely unmasked. There was no more pretence in Kara's eyes—her personal defenses had been overwhelmed. These two children- three, really, for Laura recognized that there was a lost child inside Shelly Adama as well- had had their lives torn apart by decisions made by others long ago. And John was out there somewhere … another child … keeping faith with the past, trying to murder a demon born in the rubble of a war that was a monument to human greed and hubris. If the Cavils were monsters, then they had plenty of human company. Here was a truth that Laura could finally confront without flinching. Tomas Vergis … Daniel Graystone … Peter Corman … the list of men and women whose vanity, arrogance and stupidity had brought them all to this terrible moment stretched across a vast reach of both space and time.

True to her word, Shelly Adama mastered her own sorrow and stayed at Polyxena's side throughout the procedure. The child tried to push her away, but Shelly refused to leave. Laura was right: for her own peace of mind she needed to do this, needed some sense of closure with her own haunted past. Polyxena's pregnancy was well advanced, and the surgery was prolonged. It broke Shelly's heart to see the perfect little boy, whom they lost within bare minutes of his removal from the womb. But afterwards, she asked Bill to give the girl a home on _Galactica_. The Cylon had decided to take the human under her wing; fifty billion had died, but she was determined to save this one princess. She would not allow Polyxena to become yet one more sacrifice on the altar of human and Cylon arrogance.

. . .

Helena Cain unbuckled her holster, and took off her tunic. She leaned up against the console in her quarters, and arched her back. She was stiff and sore; it had been one hell of a day. She walked over to a cabinet, pulled out a bottle of aged whiskey, and poured herself a stiff drink. _Who would have ever guessed that Pegasus would be all but destroyed not by the Cylons but by another colonial warship?_ She shook her head in despair. She really needed that shower. . . .

She poured herself another drink, and carried it over to her bedside. She turned down the covers and climbed in. _I'll have to send some knuckle-draggers EVA on the next shift … have them take a really good look at our spine. If we could jury rig a patch that would hold for even one or two jumps …_

Her head dropped gratefully onto the waiting pillow, but there was something hard trapped underneath.

_What the …_

. . .

There were seven pregnancies in all, and it surprised Laura when two of the women, monotheists from Gemenon, informed her that they would keep the babies. The Cylons were deeply unhappy about the loss of the other five, but Laura Roslin did not flinch. She had become a Razor.


	29. Chapter 29: A Gaggle of Cavils

CHAPTER 29

A GAGGLE OF CAVILS

"Would someone like to tell me why we're all dead?" Cavil walked briskly into the conference room, and exchanged brief nods with the seven other Cavils who had preceded him. Unlike his brothers, this particular copy had taken the time to find a clean shirt and trousers. He didn't understand how anyone could be so casual about death that they would put on dirty clothes after a download. Cavil made a mental note to track down his copy of Kuiyers' _Death and Symbolism_. Some of his brothers would obviously benefit from its insights.

"At a guess," another Cavil responded ironically, "I'd say that something went wrong with the inhibitors."

"I hope you're not implying," a third Cavil interjected, "that the centurions have found a way to liberate themselves. That, my friends, would not be good news."

"Were any of you in the stream when our metallic brothers decided to barge in and rearrange our anatomy? There was a rather vivid slideshow unfolding … detailed snapshots of that little project we were working on close to thirty years ago. All things considered," this fourth Cavil copy observed, "I think we got lucky. The centurions made it quick. If the Eights had got a hold of us …"

A fifth copy shuddered. "You're right, brother … all things considered. So I hope you will all approve of my unilateral decision to box the Twos, Threes, Fours, Sixes and Eights on this and the other ship."

There was a general murmur of agreement.

"Was it really necessary to box the Fours?" The sixth Cavil quite liked the Fours.

"Well," the fifth Cavil answered, "I did notice that the only machines getting their asses handed to them were Ones and Fives. Until we can figure out what the frak is going on, it seemed the prudent thing to do."

"Speaking of the Fives," the third copy asked, "where's Aaron?"

"I've put a hold on his downloads," the Cavil who had arrived last replied. "It's not that I don't trust the Fives, but … I don't trust them. At the moment, I'm not even sure that I trust you. Since the Fives don't know frak, it seemed like a good idea to exclude them from this little get-together."

There was another general murmur of agreement.

"So what's the connection," a seventh Cavil thoughtfully asked. "Why would the centurions get upset about old data on the abominations? It's not like they weren't in on that project at the outset."

"Now that, my friends, is the question," the third Cavil solemnly offered.

"Perhaps it wasn't the centurions," the eighth Cavil suggested. "I mean, they're only one step above the Raiders on the food chain. Ah … but the hybrid … the hybrid might well have taken offense. After all, it also shares DNA with the abominations."

"Yeah, granted, but at the end of the day … so what? We've been careful to keep that tidbit of information out of the data banks, and it's not like we've been holding public symposia on the subject." The fifth Cavil, like the rest of the Ones, understood that there were certain topics _never _to be discussed within earshot of the hybrid or the other models.

"If I may ask an embarrassing question," the third Cavil cut in, "why are we having this conversation? The hybrid, my friends, must be eavesdropping. Things could get sticky."

"Not likely," the fifth Cavil smirked. "I've unplugged the frakkin' machine; it's something that I've wanted to do for years!"

"_What? You unplugged the hybrid? Are you crazy? No one's ever pulled the plug on an operational ship; you may have killed us all!" _The fourth Cavil was beginning to wonder whether they should start boxing themselves. The strain seemed to be getting to some of his brothers.

"Hey, I'm just getting started! I've been dreaming about lobotomizing one of those things ever since this war started going south on us … and considering that I stopped sleeping twenty years ago, that's saying something!"

"Could we get back on topic?" The late arriving Cavil was rapidly losing patience with his siblings. "We were the only machines on the ship who knew about the abominations, so the question is: how the frak did the hybrid find out? Unless one of us crashed the Twos' stash and got a little chatty, there shouldn't be any frakking way."

"Now that, my friends, is the question," the third Cavil solemnly suggested. He looked around at his brothers, who were scowling suspiciously at each other.

The fifth copy suddenly whipped out a gun and put it on the table. He glared at Cavil. "Brother, hit your delete button. I swear, if you say 'my friends' just one more time, I'm going to use you for target practice!"

There was still another general murmur of agreement. The third Cavil decided to start projecting a nice, soothing green forest.

"_Stop it," _several Cavils roared at once. They favored black for a reason: more often than not, it matched their mood. Being stuck with gelatinous orbs that missed virtually the whole of the EM spectrum had long ago soured their collective outlook on life.

The third Cavil hastily switched over to a rickety lifeboat being tossed and turned by a raging storm in the dead of night somewhere out on the high seas. They were riding up and down swells six meters high. His brothers instantly relaxed.

"That's better," the last Cavil to arrive remarked. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes … the hybrid. We can't run the damn ship without it, so we're gonna have to plug it back in at some point. Here's my suggestion. We cordon it off, just like we do the control room on the resurrection ships. No one gets in except us and the centurions …"

"The Twos aren't going to like that," the eighth Cavil warned.

"Frak the Twos," the fifth Cavil shot back. "You see any Twos around here at the moment? I'm thinking about lobotomizing them as well. They've been nothing but trouble from the beginning."

There was yet another general murmur of agreement.

"What do we actually need the Twos for," the sixth Cavil inquired. "I mean, does anybody here know what they actually do?"

"You mean apart from pissing us off? Remind me," the fifth Cavil noted, "to bring that little subject up for discussion with our parents when we finally get around to killing them. And while we're at it, remind me to ask them about the Threes as well. I'm convinced that our parents hate us and designed the Twos and Threes just to prove the point, but I want to hear it from their own lips."

"So are we all in agreement, then? We isolate the hybrids?" The Cavil who had arrived last wanted to get this meeting over with. He had reached the really exciting part of Redfield's _Social Deconstruction of Unreal Meaning_.

"You know, brother," the eighth Cavil said with a frown, "we can't really isolate the hybrids. Physically … yes, we can do that. But to prevent this from happening again, we'd have to keep the other models out of the stream as well. This sort of information could be transmitted from any data port on the ship."

"Then we're screwed," the fifth Cavil concluded. "All right … that's it, then. We download the Fives, but for now everybody else stays boxed. I want all of us to start thinking about how we can upgrade the other models. Can we implant inhibitors? Can we reconfigure their personality matrices? Can we reprogram them so that they'll actually start behaving like machines? And last but by no means least … can we shove some porn into the Eights? They're more uptight than Gemenese virgins!"

There was another, rather more raucous, round of agreement.

"Brothers," the late arrival summarized with satisfaction, "at last … at long last … we actually have a plan!"

. . .

"Well, I've got to hand it to you, Anders. Through good times and bad, you've managed to keep your core group going." Melania tossed some more wood onto the fire. "And absorbing all of these other groups … getting them to overlook the not inconsiderable fact that you're a Cylon … you must have extraordinary leadership skills."

For a month, Sam Anders and his followers had been moving steadily east from Delphi, picking up stragglers and other resistance groups as they went. He had started the morning with 336 humans under his command, and now Lysander had brought in another 117. They still hadn't worked out the problem of who would be in charge of the almost 500 people in their combined camp.

Sam stared into the flames, and wondered yet again how he could possibly share humanity's atavistic love of fire. Warmth … protection … the intoxicating smells of grilling meat … these things should have meant nothing to a machine, but on some primal level they meant … everything.

"It's not me," Sam protested; "it's Natasi. She was patient. She wore down people's stereotypes about the cylon. It only took one good skin job. I … I'm just following in her path. If only …"

"Yeah," Melania acknowledged, "if only." There was regret in both their voices.

_If only the Cylons had come back in peace. If only they'd shown themselves. If only they'd asked for all of us to make a fresh start. If only …_

"So what's it like … being a Cylon?"

"How the hell would I know," Sam answered defensively. "I don't exactly come equipped with a manual." He gestured at the flames. "I like the smell of meat grilling over an open fire. I like the scent of a beautiful woman … the texture of her skin … her sensuality." He peeked at Melania out of the corner of his eye: Sam wasn't above dropping hints. "On the pyramid court, it was always about perfection. The perfect shot … seeing the angles … getting the geometry right. I liked having people admire me … think that I was somebody special. Does any of this make me less than human?"

"No," Melania admitted. She looked out into the dark. Sam's centurions were out there, patrolling the perimeter, keeping them safe. As wars went, this one had become very strange. The enemy was no longer quite as obvious as it had been on the day of the attacks. Everything had changed.

"So," she said, "where do we go from here?"

"We keep moving east, checking out everything on Natasi's maps. _Galactica's_ out there somewhere … part of a human-Cylon alliance. She said that they'll come back for us, so we have to get ready—locate and tag everything of use. Once we leave, I don't think that we'll ever be coming back."

"That's not what I meant, Sam. I was referring to us … humans and Cylons. Where are we going?"

"I don't know, Melania … I really don't know. I just want to find my people. Maybe they can answer your questions. Maybe they can show me what it means to be cylon. I want to find out if I'm the person I'm supposed to be."

"And if you're not? Will you try and change just so that you can conform to somebody else's idea of what a Cylon should be? Will you let them change you into something … less human?"

"I don't know. At this point, I don't know a damned thing. I want to get some answers, but whether or not I make use of them … I just don't know."

Melania snuggled up close to Sam, and put her arm around his waist. She continued to stare into the fire.

"I hope you don't change, Sam; I like you pretty much the way you are."

. . .

"Brother, this is pretty good stuff. Where did you find it?" The One who had been the eighth and last to speak at the conference was admiring the collection of pornography put together by the One who had been the fifth to speak.

"Some of it was on the ships that the centurions captured during the first war. That's where all of the digital imagery comes from. The rest … the magazines and videos … came from adult bookstores in the Colonies. I bought them right off the rack."

"Weren't you afraid that you would draw attention to yourself … a priest buying pornography?"

"Nah, priests- and priestesses- they were regular customers. Where else would you expect the perverts who attended Aphrodite and Hecate to be spending their cubits?"

"Good point," his brother conceded. "Now what we have to do is figure out a way to digitalize your entire library and download it into the Eights. What do you think? Can we reconfigure the buffers so that the Eights get an upgrade when they resurrect?"

"Yeah, that shouldn't be much of a challenge. Oh, boy," the fifth Cavil said, "I just had a great idea. We have Eights and enough to spare, so after we give them their upgrade, why don't we ship a couple of thousand of them off to Adama? Once I get done playing around with their pheromones, they'll be able to bring the entire fleet to its collective knees—and I'm not speaking figuratively."

"There's merit in your proposal, brother—but only after we test it ourselves. I've always wondered whether the female of the species could get calluses on her knees."

"Am I interrupting anything important?" The Cavil who had been last to arrive at the conference was standing in the doorway. As usual, he looked like a machine who wanted to be somewhere else. The fifth Cavil had long thought that this particular Cavil suffered from an excessive sense of self-importance. In a collective, such rampant displays of individuality were to be discouraged at all costs. Cavil seriously considered suggesting to the other Cavils that they box Cavil.

"Nah," Cavil said as he unconsciously fondled one of his pornographic treasures. "We were just sorting out some stuff to include in the upgrade for the Eights."

"Well, I'm sorry to tear you away from such important work, but there's gotta be another conference."

"Another conference … what, already?" The fifth Cavil was visibly disappointed. He had been looking forward to spending a quiet afternoon watching episode 6 of _Aphrodite in Hades_. Episode 5 had brought a whole new meaning to the term "steamy sex," and he was curious to find out what the generously endowed Ron`chi de Trollope, Caprica City's best know porn star, was planning for an encore. Episode 5 was _definitely _going into the package scheduled for download into the Eights, but Cavil's research was still ongoing- and this particular copy of Cavil took his research agenda quite seriously. If the Eights were not yet the best machines the universe had ever seen … well … he would help them draw nearer to the ultimate goal.

"Yeah, there's a proposal on the table. We all need to talk about it."

"Why do I have this sudden, sinking feeling?"

"Oh, I don't know … could it have something to do with premonitions of death and disaster? Cause we're gonna talk about bringing some of the old basestars out of retirement, with skeleton crews of 0005's from the Colony. And that means …"

"That means bringing some of the Lucifers back on line. _What idiot came up with the idea of reactivating the IL's?_"

Cavil remained silent, but he had a knowing look on his face.

"_Oh, no!"_ The fifth and eighth copies were equally aghast. _"Not him!"_

"_Frak," _the fifth Cavil barked; "why didn't I shoot the frakker when I had the chance?"

. . .

_Now I know that I'm losing it,_ Starbuck conceded with a shrug of her shoulders. She was once more deep inside Pelea's baseship. Kara was wandering idly about, her fingertips every now and then grazing the spongy walls. _There is absolutely no frakking way that the baseship can know how to carry a tune- and there's even less chance that it knows the words to that particular song. So either she's reading my mind or I'm going crazy, and since Lee keeps reminding me that I don't have a brain to begin with, the answer to this puzzle seems pretty damned obvious._

"_There must be some way out of here," said the joker to the thief; "there's too much confusion," I can't get no relief …_

Kara was humming the tune, and it irritated her no end that the damned baseship was humming it right along with her. She wondered if the Cylons could sense the difference in their ship … could hear the rhythm that hadn't been there before, the quickening of the pulse.

Kara glanced behind her. The two Sixes who had been trailing her were now about twenty-five meters away, apparently minding their own business. Starbuck knew better. Ever since her spectacular meltdown on the _Eurykleia_, the Sixes hadn't let her out of their sight. The once feisty Viper pilot was pretty sure that her moms had her on a suicide watch.

_Well, why not? I swear, if I go around the corner and see a Mandela on the wall, I'm gonna stick my neck in the first noose that walks by. There are limits, you know._

The baseship stubbornly refused to take the bait, and Kara thought that it had begun to figure her out. The verbal diarrhea had slowed down and then finally stopped altogether. Now the ship picked its moments, and that really pissed Starbuck off.

_Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my …_

Starbuck stopped in mid-stanza. _Come on, damn you! Let's see if you know the rest of it! _She punched her fist hard into the wall, but the ship absorbed the blow uncomplainingly. It was like punching a pillow.

_None of them along the line know what any of it is worth._

"_Arghh,"_ Kara screamed before she started banging her head against the wall.

The two Sixes raced up, one of them quickly cradling their daughter in her arms. The Six made soft, shushing sounds.

"It won't stop," Kara sobbed into her mother's chest; "it won't shut up … it just won't shut up. And I'm losing it. Whatever Kara Thrace once was, I'm losing her so fast that I can barely remember her anymore. And I'm scared … gods, I am so scared …"

. . .

On _Galactica_, Sharon and Karl were sharing a meal in the officer's mess. Suddenly, Sharon's eyes went wide. She moaned, and clutched her stomach.

"_Sharon?" _Helo's voice was poised on the sharp edge of panic. _"Sharon? Sharon … what's happening, Sharon?"_

"Hera," she managed to get out.

Hera was kicking for all she was worth … and Sharon didn't think that she was going to be stopping any time soon.

. . .

The rickety lifeboat's success had inspired the third Cavil to redecorate the conference room with a fresh projection. He had called this second meeting, and he knew that his highly temperamental brothers were going to be unhappy at best, so he had decided to go all out on the décor. Hades seemed the perfect choice. The conference room was now awash in bubbling tar pits and molten streams of lava. There were Furies hanging from the now rocky ceiling. It was a pity, he thought, that he couldn't get them to shriek maniacally— but there were, after all, limits to cylon projection. He had tried to make up for this particular deficiency by artfully scattering a tasteful selection of instruments of torture around the chamber. Most of his brothers had a keen scientific interest in pain and its thresholds (_no,_ he conceded, _let's face facts: it's more like an obsession_), and he suspected that there were one or two items here that the rest of them had never seen before. _It's too bad we don't have a few virtual humans aboard; I could show them how this stuff works …_

The third Cavil drummed his fingers on the conference table, which now took the form of a rack. It was exact in every detail, fully functional, and therefore wonderfully aesthetic. _The Ha`la`tha really knew a thing or two about dispensing pain, _he wistfully thought. _I do wish that the others would pay more attention to the fact that Adama's family was from Tauron, and that his uncle was once a Ha`la`tha thug in good standing. The dirt-eaters are nothing if not resourceful, and a dirt-eater in command of a battlestar is not, my friends, a good thing. _The third Cavil made a mental note to remind his brothers of this obvious fact yet again.

The others filed in, one by one, looking neither more nor less disgruntled than he had expected.

The Cavil who had been the last to arrive at the previous meeting was also the last to arrive at this one. "All right," he said, "let's get this over with."

"Brothers," the third Cavil said portentously, "I have said it before and now I'll say it again—we are running out of baseships!"

"Big frakkin' deal," the fifth Cavil snorted. "We'll have three brand new baseships ready to go in a matter of months, and they're gonna be state-of-the-art. They'll have so many bells and whistles that the hybrid on this tub will need therapy just to cope with its inferiority complex."

"And how many months are we talking about, brother," the third Cavil asked soothingly. He made a placating gesture with his hands. Six? Eight?"

"Something along those lines."

"And in the interim?"

"We lay low. We let Adama think that he's given us the slip. He's already fat, so now we let him get sassy. Then, when the time's right, we nail his scrotum to the wall."

"And do you expect Natalie to lower her guard as well?" Cavil was concerned that Cavil was indulging in delusional thinking.

The fifth Cavil sneered dismissively. "The Sixes' idea of a battlefield is a mattress with silk sheets. Natalie's no different from the rest of them … how could she be when they're all the same? Nah, all she wants to do is lay back, spread her legs, and get pregnant. She's probably not even picky. The Sixes will do anything to bring more of their precious abominations into the world."

"A Six … on her back?" There could no longer be any doubt. Now Cavil was convinced that Cavil was indulging in delusional thinking.

"Brothers," the Cavil who had been the last to arrive said with considerable irritation, "while the Sixes and their mating habits may be endlessly fascinating to some of you, I have places to go and people to kill. So, let's stay on point. Either we back off the pursuit for half a year or more, or we activate the Lucifers and send them out to do our dirty work for us. There's risk either way. What's it gonna be?"

The eight Cavils all looked at one another uneasily. Each of them was acutely aware of the fact that, no matter how they decided, this one could come back to bite them in the butt.

"Five basestars," one of them finally muttered; "we give each a skeleton crew of 0005's, and we turn them loose. If we're lucky, they'll catch up with Adama and everybody ends up getting blown to hell."

"End of line," one of his brothers sarcastically added.

"So say we all," another Cavil mocked.

"By your command," the fifth Cavil surrendered. He was anxious to get back to _Aphrodite in Hades_.

. . .

Natalie watched carefully as her daughter finished brushing her teeth. Pyrrha was kneeling on a stool in front of the basin. Natalie handed her a tiny cup of mouthwash.

"Now rinse and spit … don't swallow."

"But it tastes good," Pyrrha objected.

"I know, sweetheart, but it's not good for you."

This was Pyrrha's tooth brushing night. Even on the Cylon baseships, the draw down on supplies was an ongoing, remorseless process. The captured Cylon transport had been loaded with all sorts of goodies, ranging from the essential (25 kilogram sacks of flour) to the useful (toothpaste) to the luxurious (cosmetics and toiletries for the Sixes). Insisting that the Cylons were already well supplied, Natalie had kept none of it. She had visited far too many of the human ships and had seen far too much misery and desperation at first hand to be surprised by the scale of the violence that had recently swept the fleet. Distributing necessities and luxuries to every ship large and small would, she hoped, buy them all some time. But she agreed with Laura Roslin—the fleet needed to find a habitable world, the sooner the better. Adama had given her the assignment, and she had Heavy Raiders out scouting surrounding systems every day.

Unfortunately, habitable planets were rare in the extreme, so Natalie was encouraging everyone on the baseship, human and Cylon alike, to come up with new ideas to make all of their ships livable over the long haul. It was in this context that she had decided to turn tooth brushing into a game for the Cylons and their adopted human children. Tonight it was Pyrrha's turn to brush; tomorrow, it would be her mother's. Tomorrow night, it would be Pyrrha reminding her to rinse but not swallow.

There were shampooing nights, bubble bath parties—and now that Galen and Naomi had finished the second, more advanced stealth Viper … there was a water park for the children under construction on one of the recently damaged hangar decks. It was going to be simple- a wading pool and a single water slide—but it would boost morale among the children fleet wide, and that in turn would boost morale among the adults. Another Six, whom Natalie privately considered vain in the extreme, had come up with the idea of opening a spa and beauty salon, and Natalie had encouraged her to run with it. She had Cylons out scouring the fleet for books and magazines, and she was pressuring the admiral to donate his considerable private library to give her the makings of a public one. Natalie was brimming with ideas, and every magazine that she perused gave her ten new ones. The core idea, however, was to have her baseship supplement and eventually replace _Cloud Nine _as the activity center of the fleet. She wanted humans to feel comfortable here, and for Cylons to feel increasingly comfortable with their presence.

As Natalie and Pyrrha walked down the corridor to their own chamber, Natalie reflected on how different the baseship had already become. Fearless, the children went everywhere. The Cylons had laid out play areas to replace the playgrounds that had been lost with the Colonies, but they quickly discovered that games like hide-and-seek required a lot of space. When they weren't in school, laughing, screaming children might show up anywhere on the ship, including the control room and the hybrid's chamber. The smaller children, having not yet absorbed the machine phobia of the older ones or the adults, loved Reun. If there was anything in life that could be considered inevitable, it was that bold, self-confident little Melpomene would find the hybrid and lead the other children to her. Six of them had sought her out, and they had knelt at the edge of the vat and listened with rapt attention as the hybrid delivered her endless monologue on the current status of the ship's many systems. And then, without warning, Reun had turned her head and yelled _"boo!"_ The children had shrieked in momentary terror, which took about two seconds to morph into peals of uncontrolled laughter. Now Natalie had to station a Two or an Eight in Reun's chamber at all times because, left to their own devices, the littlest ones would have climbed into the vat with her. Reun, of course, wouldn't have minded in the least—but she did have a ship to run.

Initially, Natalie was stunned by how quickly projection began to fall out of favor with her brothers and sisters. It was only belatedly that she came to understand: projection had brought the illusion of life to the baseship, but in the presence of real life it was no longer necessary. The Cylons had given the children a home, but what the children offered in return was just as valuable, and perhaps more so. They were teaching the Cylons the importance of patience, understanding, and a host of other virtues that added up to something called parenting. With children of their own on the way, these were skills that the Cylons needed to master, yet some of them were incredibly difficult. Larissa was tutoring everyone, including Natalie, who was currently trying to come to terms with what the nurse called "tough love." In the abstract, she could understand why it might sometimes be a good idea to ignore a crying child, but she had no intuitive feel for when to comfort Pyrrha and when to look the other way. How could she? _Watch,_ Larissa had counseled her; _watch and learn._ So, Natalie had watched the children at play, which sometimes got rather rough. She noted the shocked look that had washed across little Julia's face when she was knocked to the deck.

"Look," Larissa had whispered, "she's thinking about it. _Should I cry, or not cry?_ If she cries, do you think it will be because she's hurt or because she wants attention?"

And Natalie had understood … and in that precise moment her grasp of what it meant to be human had deepened significantly. Cylons relied upon downloading, which passed the experience of the individual copy on to his or her model at large. Humans learned in group environments as well, but they also learned from personal observation and experience. The one gave you knowledge, but it was the other that, however painfully, brought wisdom. Downloading was efficient but flawed because it recycled knowledge but did not sharpen instincts—and parenting required both. If they wanted to raise their children well, every Cylon parent would have to exceed his or her program. The real challenge was already clear: they would have to teach themselves basic skills not covered in their programming for the simple reason that its designers had never anticipated this situation or anything even remotely like it. Raising children was bringing the Cylons face to face with their own limitations. But the challenge was also an invitation and Natalie accepted it gratefully, knowing that from this path there could be no turning back.

"Are you ready to say your prayers, sweetheart?"

"Yes, mommy; can we say them together?"

Mother and child knelt at the side of the bed, and bowed their heads in prayer.

"Now I lay me down to sleep," Pyrrha recited, "and my soul to God I give to keep. If I die before I wake, God I pray my soul to take. And take care of mommy, and Melpomene, and David, and Julia …" Every night, Pyrrha offered up the same prayers to the One True God.

"Mommy," Pyrhha asked when she had been tucked into bed, "what does God look like?"

"When He comes to us, He doesn't want us to be afraid, so He looks like us."

"Is it true that Aunt Kara is an angel, and that she's going to lead us all home?"

"Oh, yes, sweetie … Aunt Kara is the angel who will guide us to a new world."

Pyrrha nodded; she was deep in thought.

"Mommy? I think that God looks a lot like Aunt Kara."

"Why, sweetie?" Natalie was genuinely puzzled.

"Because God loves everybody … and because Aunt Kara is a hybrid and she loves everybody. I think that God has to be a hybrid so that He can love everybody too."

Natalie hugged her daughter, and kissed her on the top of her head. Pyrrha never ceased to amaze her.

_Small children have such extraordinary insights,_ Natalie thought. _Pyrrha is already wiser than most Cylons, and yet she's barely begun to learn … barely begun._

Natalie gently stroked her daughter's cheek. _This is the future we were supposed to embrace, and this is the world I'm going to build for Pyrrha … for all the children. The Ones are not going to rob us again._

. . .

"I haven't been here in years," the Cavil who had called the second meeting said. "This place has really grown."

He was referring to the Colony, which seemed to have doubled in size since his last visit.

"That's why we have to keep jumping systems," his brother said. At the moment, he was feeling pretty mellow. Episode 6 of _Aphrodite in Hades_ had been well worth the wait, and it was definitely going into the upgrade for the Eights as well. "The Colony's an organism, so it needs to eat. And the bigger it gets, the hungrier it gets. So as soon as we finish off one asteroid belt, we have to move on to the next."

"What happens if we run out of asteroid belts?"

"The frakking ship will have to go on a diet."

The two Cavils were in a rare good mood. While chasing down the Colony, they had passed the time watching old movies. _Colonial Day_ was always good for a laugh. A bunch of alien spacecraft came out of nowhere and settled into orbit over Caprica City, Themis, Hypatia, and so forth. Then the enemy commanders mysteriously decided to go on holiday for several hours, ceding the initiative to the human pest. Before it was all over, human ingenuity had once again triumphed over a vastly superior technology being wielded by what invariably turned out to be the stupidest aliens in this or any other universe. Yes, indeed; _Colonial Day_ ranked right up there with _The Ovions Are Coming_, _Return of the Ovions_, and the ever popular _Ovions 3_.

"So, do we just pick five basestars at random?" This copy of Cavil privately thought that his brothers were all out of their collective mind, but he had seen which way the wind was blowing and had kept his lips zipped at the last meeting. He was currently trying to figure out whether to blame the Twos for this mess, or their parents. Increasingly, however, he favored a third alternative, and that was to blame the whole lot of them. _It would be just like Mama Tory to have gotten the Twos started on a program of hallucinogenic self-enlightenment and then encourage them to spread the good cheer throughout the rest of the collective. This would have given Mama Ellen the perfect excuse to come in and give us another one of her patented lectures on how flawed we all were … what big disappointments. Except for the Sevens, of course; she'd hug Daniel and give him a cookie before wishing him nightie-night. Frakkin' Sevens …_

"It's pretty much beggar's choice," Cavil conceded. He wasn't about to tell his brothers that he was here for one reason and one reason only, and that was to toss Papa Saul's personal belongings one more time. A machine that deep into booze and babes, he reasoned, had to have a substantial collection of porn stashed somewhere, but it would be well hidden because Mama Ellen really knew how to stick it to Papa Saul. _It's gotta be here,_ Cavil kept telling himself; _and one of these days I'm gonna find it!_ He had been searching off and on for years, and he didn't kid himself … he was starting to get a little desperate. Even Ron`chi de Trollope was beginning to look a bit stale.

"You know, my friends …"

The other two Cavils winced.

"… I must confess to being rather fond of the 0005's. And those three passenger attack vehicles … you know, I'm beginning to feel quite nostalgic. I miss the good old days when we didn't have to rely on anything other than good, old-fashioned hate to motivate the centurions. It will be good to work with the 0005's again."

"Yeah, and the reunion with the IL's should be loads of fun." Cavil was really beginning to regret that he had passed on the opportunity to shoot Cavil. "Maybe the two of you can celebrate old times by sharing a liter of oil. Oh, and don't forget to bring back one of those robes of theirs for Aaron. He likes the way it sets off his eyes."

"Never fear … it's on my 'to do' list."

"Can we get this over with," the other Cavil asked. He wasn't truly dyspeptic by nature, but he had never quite managed to work out all the kinks in his current body. For this as for everything else, he blamed his parents.

"Agreed," his brother commented. "As one of us has been known to say from time to time, 'I have places to go and people to kill' … and time's wasting. So, let's get to it."

The three brothers trudged deep into the ship, in fact to its very center. The Colony was an offshoot of the craft in which their parents had made their subluminal journey from Cylon Earth, and the Lucifers were being kept in cold storage in two of its compartments. Two of the brothers, who wanted to stay as far away from this dumb-assed decision as they could possibly get, stood silently aside and observed the third brother, whose dumb-assed proposal had brought them here in the first place. If anyone ended up being boxed for bringing five of the IL's back on line, they wanted this Cavil to be the fall guy.

"By your command."

The two brothers would have both sworn that the five IL's were still as insufferably smug as they had been decades before. The five mechanical voices somehow managed to convey irony, amusement, and infinite self-satisfaction in tones perfectly designed to set a Cavil's teeth on edge.

. . .

When Caprica saw not one but two Simons enter the conference room, she knew without question that the prognosis was grim. She caught Boomer's eye; it was obvious that the Eight had drawn the same conclusion.

Caprica and Boomer, along with a host of other Cylons, had been waiting on the deck when Gina and the Eights brought the Raptor to rest in the landing bay. Gina had dashed out of the Heavy Raider and, ignoring them all, headed straight for the colonial vessel. She quickly punched in the code that she had entered just before killing herself, but she had no way of knowing whether John had some fancy system in place that would lock out any code but his own. She didn't want to blow the door—not with the badly injured hybrid prostrate on the floor less than two meters away.

The door opened, and Gina rushed inside. She knelt at his side, not knowing what to expect … but he was still alive. His breathing was, however, far more labored; she swore that she could hear something bubbling in his chest.

"John, can you hear me? It's Gina. I've brought help, so just hang on. Okay? Just hang on." Behind her, she sensed more Cylons entering the tiny cabin.

The first thing that Caprica saw was the blood. There was so much of it, and it was everywhere. Long smears of blood led forward, along both the floor and the walls. She followed the blood with her eyes, and saw Gina's body. The whole right side of the cockpit was splattered with her blood and brains.

Caprica eased past Gina, looked down at John, and felt her heart leap into her throat. This man was a very large part of her world, and he was … shattered. Her mind called up the image of a broken doll that she had found on a deserted playground on post-apocalyptic Caprica—only this doll was broken and bleeding.

Caprica somehow managed to kneel alongside Gina in the cramped and confining cabin. She knew that it wasn't going to be easy to get her sister to let go. All Sixes shared a root psychological matrix, and over the wireless Gina had already given them an abridged account of what had happened, at least from her point of view. John had slipped aboard _Pegasus_ to set booby traps for Helena Cain. Tactically, the smart play would have been to leave the Six behind, to exit the ship without anyone having ever registered his presence. But he had promised to protect her from Cain, and he had refused to leave without her. The cost of keeping the promise was here, in this Raptor, and for Gina Inviere it was going to be devastating because like all Sixes she understood that debts and obligations were a raging river with swift and confusing currents that ran in every conceivable direction. Gina's pain would ripple across the collective, touching every Six in its path. John had unwittingly condemned her model to suffer still more conflict and confusion.

"Gina? Listen to me. You have to get out of the way so that the Fours can get to him. They can help him … they're actually pretty good at emergency care. Please, come with me; let them work."

Gina had offered no resistance, and so Caprica had led her out to the hangar deck. Shortly thereafter, two of the Simons had brought John out on a gurney and taken him directly to the baseship's tiny surgery.

Now, they would all learn the fate of their first born child.

. . .

Natalie lightly tapped on the table to call the meeting to order. These days the Cylon commander was reading everything she could lay her hands on, and the Ship's Council was an idea that she had lifted straight from the pages of one of the admiral's books. Leoben, D'Anna, Simon, Miranda, Larissa, Lee and Galen were the other permanent members, but she had invited two guests to attend this particular session as well.

"Doctor Fordyce … Doctor Cottle … thank you for joining us. I appreciate how busy you both are; we are all grateful that you could find the time to meet with us today."

Cottle harrumphed. "I'm not all that busy at the moment … and besides, my sense of curiosity has got the better of me. I'm expecting this to be really good."

"Well," Natalie said, "the first item on the agenda is what to do about Reun. The children are constantly smuggling treats into her, but the hybrid doesn't have a true digestive system. It's becoming something of a problem."

Amelie Fordyce snorted out loud. "Sherman," she chuckled gleefully, "you really asked for this!"

"What exactly is the problem," Lee inquired. "From the waist up, the hybrid is clearly human, so she has to eat something."

"Captain, the problem is from the waist down …"

This time Amelie laughed so hard that tears began to run down her cheeks.

The Four frowned ever so slightly; he didn't understand what he was saying that was so funny.

"The hybrid receives the necessary nutrients intravenously; the solution itself has been carefully designed to minimize waste bi-products. There is a collection system, and a tube leads from there to an outlet pipe in the side of her tub."

"What about her kidneys," Cottle asked. The hybrid actually fascinated him no end.

"There is very little if any liquid waste, but there is a pipe exiting the bladder which feeds into the primary outlet."

"So what actually is the problem," Lee stubbornly persisted. "Can't she just palm the treats, or pretend to swallow them?"

"Lee, you've just arrived at the heart of the matter," Leoben remarked. The Cylons all began shifting in their chairs, which astonished Larissa to such a degree that she had to make a conscious effort not to gape. She had been living on this ship for a long time, and she knew that Cylons did not fidget. _Sherman's right,_ she instantly concluded; _this ought to be really, really good_.

"Whoever designed the hybrid," the Four continued with an absolutely straight face, "forgot to turn off its taste buds."

Every human in the room began roaring with laughter. In truth, Lee Adama had never heard anything quite so funny in his entire life.

When the laughter finally started to subside, it was D'Anna's turn.

"The hybrid has developed what humans sometimes refer to as 'a sweet tooth'," she calmly noted.

This triggered another sustained round of belly laughs, but D'Anna failed to understand why Galen Tyrol had suddenly decided repeatedly to slap his forehead. _Humans are decidedly odd,_ she concluded.

"So what are we supposed to do about it," Galen finally asked. He had a nasty suspicion that this was the point where the Chief was going to get dragged into the conversation.

"Chief, I'm glad you asked," Natalie brightly responded.

_Yup … like I didn't see this one coming,_ Galen thought.

Natalie accessed a very special subroutine, and lit up the room with the warmest smile that she had ever bestowed upon anyone. "Chief, I would like you and Doctor Cottle to work with Four on this …"

"Oh, let me guess," Galen interrupted with a tight smile. "In addition to regular maintenance, which now includes repairing every little thing that goes wrong with the centurions, you want me to engineer a fully functioning digestive tract for the hybrid."

"Exactly," Natalie beamed. "And we all know how much you like creative challenges."

"Do you have any … uh … written schematics for us to consult," Cottle asked.

"The Twos and Fours can supply whatever information you require"

Natalie looked around the table. "Now, can we move on to the remaining item on the agenda?"

Lee simply raised his eyebrows, which Natalie took as a signal that she should continue.

"What are we going to do about Kara?"

. . .

One of the Simons dropped a blood-stained Kevlar vest onto the table. They had not bothered to remove the bullets.

"The vest saved his life. It stopped five rounds, two of which would otherwise have torn his center spine apart. But he must have been very close to an explosive device when it detonated. The damage to the right side of his head and torso is more severe than the left, suggesting that his right side was more exposed to the blast."

"He set a G-4 charge," Gina whispered. "He was dragging me out of the blast radius, but he couldn't get clear."

"Both eardrums have been ruptured. The tympanic membrane in the middle ear on the left has been perforated, but the tears are small and do not require surgery. They will heal themselves over the next six to eight weeks. This normally results in moderate dizziness and tinnitus … a ringing sound that can persist for a period of weeks as well. But the middle ear trauma on the right is far more extensive. There are three very small bones in the middle ear, and they have all been crushed and driven into the inner ear. We can't leave them in place because the risk of infection is high, so we'll have to go in and surgically dig them out. He will suffer permanent hearing loss on the right side, and he will be vulnerable to bouts of vertigo. He will have no sense of whether he's falling or the floor is coming up to slap him in the face."

"It is possible that he will recover his sense of balance in time," the other Simon remarked. "We do not have good data for this, but the human doctors will undoubtedly be able to give you a better sense of his long-term prognosis. If he becomes ambulatory before we find their fleet, you will not want to leave him alone."

"We won't," Caprica said tersely.

"The membranes in his sinus cavities have all been ruptured, and the septal hematoma resulting from exposed capillaries is on the high end of the scale."

Everybody in the room had the same blank look on their face.

"Severe nose bleed," Simon said impatiently. "We've already installed drains in his nasal cavity, and packed it with gauze. He'll be in a lot of pain, and the risk of infection is again high, but we have medications to deal with both. Facial contusions and bruising are extensive but not life threatening; he'll look a lot better in seven to ten days."

"He has four cracked ribs," his brother went on, "and one of them penetrated the surrounding membrane and entered the right lung. It deflated the lung, and there is already evidence of pneumonia, but the membrane miraculously sealed around the rib. If it hadn't, he would have drowned in his own blood. Here again, we'll have to operate, with full life support for the duration of the surgery. We'll have to hook him up to a machine and let it do his breathing for him." Simon wondered if his fellow Cylons saw the irony in what he had just said.

"Now we come to his left leg," the other Simon continued. "He was shot twice, both times in the thigh. One round resulted in what humans call a flesh wound. It entered and exited without hitting anything except fatty tissue. It poses no problems." He visibly hesitated.

_Now we come to the heart of it,_ Caprica thought. She reached for Gina's hand; the two sisters were seated side by side.

"The second round cleanly entered the thigh at an angle from below. But when it struck the femur, which is the longest and strongest bone in both Cylon and human bodies, it began to tumble. Before exiting, it caused significant trauma to the surrounding musculature in the form of ruptured ligaments and lesions in various muscles. There is ongoing loss of blood in the form of leakage into surrounding tissue; the femur is a hemoglobin rich environment. He needs immediate transfusion, but his blood is unique … we have nothing to give him."

"You will find two bags of his blood in cold storage on the Raptor," Caprica said shortly. "Make good use of them."

Caprica knew that everyone in the room had turned to stare at her— after all, no one was likely to miss the implications of her last statement. But Caprica Six was long past caring how her brothers and sisters coped with the truth. If the Simons needed blood, she would give them blood.

"We will have to go in and try and repair the femur itself. The bullet cracked it, but we are not looking at a simple or even a compound fracture. There are bone chips embedded in surrounding tissue that we will have to chase down and remove, or we risk infection that in this case would be life threatening. Human doctors would use titanium pins to knit the bone back together, and even install steel plates to stabilize it. We are not well equipped in this area."

Caprica stared hard at the two Fours as she tried to figure out what it was that they were not saying. Her eyes narrowed.

"You're not taking his leg, so don't even think about it. If you can't operate, just stabilize him until we reach the fleet."

"Six, we do not have much time here. Quite apart from the risk of infection, there is the question of bone density. The femur will quickly start to shed mass, so you should regard this as a time sensitive procedure."

"Then use the organic resin," Gina ordered.

"What?" The two Simons were looking at her as if she had just taken complete leave of her senses.

"John and Kara are much more than simple Cylon-human hybrids. Kara told me that the Cavils encoded centurion and hybrid DNA into both of them. She's not even sure that the Raiders got left out. We can take it for granted that his immune system will not reject the baseship."

The room was instantly filled with confused chatter, but one voice stood out above the others.

"You're wrong," D'Anna loudly objected; "you have to be wrong. Thirty-five years ago we did not possess the technology … we _still_ don't have it."

"She's not wrong," Caprica countered. "Look in the stream. Those are John's memories, and I didn't edit them. You're scanning pure text … the memories of a badly frightened eight or nine year old child in a Virgon orphanage who somehow projected himself into a laboratory on the Colony and then couldn't get out. He didn't know what he was looking at … he only knew that monsters were tormenting people he loved, and he couldn't help them. Look in the stream, damn it! You can see the Cavils remove the fertilized egg from the Six and later reinsert it …"

"Sister, how did you acquire these memories?" There was a hint of curiosity in D'Anna's voice, but her tone was otherwise neutral. Everyone in the room had to be asking themselves the same question.

"Direct transfer," Caprica replied. She wanted to be truthful, but not necessarily forthcoming.

"When?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not really … but all of us are understandably concerned. There are things here that simply do not make sense. How, for example, can you possibly know that we will find blood on board the Raptor?"

"It's standard CSS procedure to equip their agents in the field with an emergency blood supply."

"Go on," D'Anna gently urged.

"We're talking slightly pre-war," Caprica conceded. "John and I were lovers. A Colonial Secret Service agent of his standing was a high value target. I teased a lot of information out of him, but virtually all of it was useless or nearly so."

"You must have been busy," Boomer said admiringly. "Frakking Gaius Baltar and a high ranking CSS agent simultaneously … it's no wonder that the others hailed you as a Hero of the Cylon."

Caprica just smiled. There were a few moments in those last months that had been very, very good.

"You still have not told us how you came by our son's memories." D'Anna refused to let it go.

"John set me up. The transfer took me so completely by surprise that at first I assumed him to be one of the Five. But by the time it was over, I couldn't hide from the truth. John and Kara are the First and Second Born of our prophecies."

"And what did you do?"

"I defected," Caprica said honestly. "He made it easy for me. He never asked me to betray my people; in fact, he never asked me to do anything that I wouldn't have done of my own free will once I had discovered the truth. He wanted me to raise doubts among the cylon, and I was eager to do so. The prophecies are ambiguous by nature, but that only becomes clear when you learn that we have children. I believe that we have misinterpreted them, and I suspect that we have been deliberately manipulated into doing so by the Ones. I suspect a great deal more, but there is little that I can prove. They've covered their tracks well."

"In the brig on _Pegasus_, Kara and I had a long talk." Gina was pleading with everyone in the room for understanding. "She told me that Gaius Baltar had been all over their blood work and DNA. Once Natalie switched sides, he had everything he needed to pin it all down. And he did. He confirmed that the children are human, Cylon, centurion, and hybrid … all wrapped up in one elegant genetic package. They are a blood group unto themselves, and there are no antigens in their blood. You should think about that because it apparently stunned everyone on _Galactica_. Antigens are the key to the human immune system, so what Baltar was really saying is that they possess an immune system but he can't figure out how it works. And you, Four … how did you describe the membrane hermetically sealing itself around the rib that punctured his lung? Didn't you use the word 'miraculous'? Our children … _our children were engineered_!"

"And God is using them to achieve His purpose," Caprica concluded. "He expects great things from Cylon and human. Our part in God's plan is now clear, and it does not involve slaughtering what little is left of the human race."

. . .

"As Lee can attest," Amelie Fordyce commented, "all pilots are required to undergo a periodic psychiatric examination, and they can be summarily removed from the cockpit if they fail to pass. Typically, pilots receive an annual evaluation, but at his or her discretion the physician in charge may require a given pilot to come in more frequently. Admiral Adama put me in charge of pilot evaluation shortly after the flight from the Colonies began, and in a period of little more than six months I have met with Kara Thrace _twice_. I have also reviewed all of her earlier evaluations. Normally, the rules of confidentiality that govern my profession would prevent me from discussing her case with anyone but her commanding officer, but there is nothing normal about Kara Thrace, and I am choosing my words carefully here. I am now violating the ethical principles that govern my profession, but I hope with just cause. We are going to be discussing a highly unstable personality who commands the loyalty of the centurions and the hybrids. Kara represents a great opportunity, but she also poses an enormous risk. The idea here is to help her, and in so doing help ourselves by maximizing the one and minimizing the other."

Doctor Fordyce looked around the table. "Still, the details of what I'm about to share with you cannot leave this room. Are we clear on this?" Amelie solicited nods or murmurs of agreement from everyone present.

"Good. Now, for the moment, I want all of you to forget about hybrid Kara. Let's concentrate on the two preexisting human personalities; we'll call them human Kara and human Starbuck. Human Starbuck is quite a piece of work. Lee … Sherman … you can add your two cubits here anytime you want. In my professional opinion, Starbuck is cocky to the point of arrogance. She is abrasive, condescending, aggressive, undisciplined, and publicly contemptuous of higher authority. Starbuck has faced so many disciplinary proceedings that, her exceptional flying skills notwithstanding, she should have been drummed out of the Colonial fleet a long time ago. She owes her career to the Colonial Secret Service in general and her hybrid twin in particular. She was serving on _Galactica_ when the war erupted only because John put her here."

"Doctor Fordyce, in Kara's defense …"

"Starbuck's, Lee; let's keep this straight."

"Okay. Don't let her know that I said this, but Starbuck might well be the most naturally talented pilot ever to enter a cockpit … _ever_. I don't disagree with a word of your assessment, but these are the qualities that give Starbuck her edge. And I want my pilots to be cocky; I want them to walk with a swagger. It gives them the confidence to go into battle against odds that at times seem overwhelming."

"Your point is well taken, Lee, and I concede it. But I'm also going to hold you to it. Sherman, unless you have something to add, we'll move on."

Cottle just shook his head. So far, he had heard nothing that surprised him.

"Lee, this may be hard for you to hear, but human Starbuck holds human Kara in utter contempt. Starbuck is Kara's male Alter, and he expects human Kara to provide some sort of balance. Human Kara's inability to form a durable relationship with a desirable male infuriates human Starbuck. Starbuck sees Kara as weak, pathetic, and sexually useless. Since he has to do everything himself, he's banished her into the wilderness. This occurred in the showers, when Starbuck hauled out a Special Forces combat blade and crudely chopped her hair down to a more manly appearance. It was this spectacular little stunt that occasioned our second, more irregular interview."

"I wondered why we haven't seen much of Kara lately," Cottle gruffly commented.

"You don't seem surprised, Doctor." Amelie was looking at him appraisingly.

"Not really. I've seen the Viper jock persona win out too many times in my career. It's the aftermath that always worries me."

"Here, here," Amelie said; she could always count on Cottle to put everything in perspective. "Since human Kara also sees herself as a failure, she didn't really object to Starbuck's coup. She was content to recede into the background, and pretty much let Starbuck rule the roost. Precisely because the ace Viper jock and _Galactica_ Top Gun is charismatic and inspires the pilots around her, you could say that the two of them had actually worked it out. They had achieved a stable if very one-sided relationship, but as Sherman has just implied, it's good only for the duration of the war. Take the Cylons out of the equation, and you are left with a chronic drunk who at some point would seriously entertain suicide. Believe me … both of us have seen this pattern of behavior more than once."

Lee was nodding. Were it not for Creusa, he might have gone down the same path.

"And then Starbuck hijacks a Cylon Raider, flies back to Caprica, and in the Delphi museum gets the crap kicked out of her by a Six. The blow to her ego is immense, and at that exact moment hybrid Kara arrives on the scene. Starbuck never sees it coming; she's blindsided. In human Kara's head something clicks; she never doubts, she never questions. Maybe on some level she had known it all along … it's hard to say. But I will tell you that human Kara _loves_ hybrid Kara; she has from the very beginning. Now human Kara knows why her mother never loved her … knows why she's been such a failure. Hybrid Kara has all the answers."

"So now we're dealing with a trinity," Larissa suggested. She could see where this was going. "For a while, everything goes smoothly … but only for a while. At some point hybrid Kara comes to the conclusion that human Starbuck is her worst enemy …"

"Why," D'Anna asked.

"Because hybrid Kara loves us all," Leoben guessed, "and she wants to bring this insane conflict to a grinding halt. But Kara the Viper jock needs this war to validate her existence; without it, she's nothing."

"Is that true?" Galen Tyrol's gaze was flicking nervously back and forth between Cottle and Fordyce. "Does the war define us all?"

"No, Galen, thankfully it doesn't. Lee has never allowed the cockpit to define him; he can walk away at any time, and he won't look back. And you won't have any problem readjusting to civilian life either."

"That's good to hear," Galen said; "for a moment there, you really had me worried!"

"Human Kara and hybrid Kara quickly strike a bargain," Amelie continued. "Human Kara is starved for affection, but that's not really the key. She has so much love inside her … it's been welling up for years, looking for a safe place to go. Hybrid Kara sees this … points human Kara at the Sixes, and promptly gets out of the way. Human Kara rushes out the door. It's telling that John has aunts, but Kara has _moms_. Human Kara doesn't discriminate between … oh … say Shelly … and a Six whom she's meeting for the first time. She loves them all, and her love is fierce and absolute. Why wouldn't it be? Humans have brought her immense pain with very little to show for it, but the Sixes return human Kara's love full measure for measure. Human Kara is distancing herself from her own people; she's happy, and would be perfectly content never to set foot on _Galactica_ again."

"Meanwhile," Cottle acerbically remarked, "back at the ranch …"

"Indeed. Sherman, I can see that you are well ahead of me. With her back door covered, hybrid Kara now sets out to destroy Starbuck, and she has some formidable weapons at her disposal. Purely by accident she discovers that there's a link between herself and Sharon Agathon's unborn child. She tests the link and sees that it works, so she starts using it to discomfit Hera. No one's going to blame hybrid Kara; to the contrary, everybody will point fingers at Starbuck and put it all down to pilot stress. Then hybrid Kara learns that the baseships are self-aware, and that she can communicate with them. She's just hit the jackpot. She can luxuriate in a full-blown nervous breakdown, knowing that Hera will panic, but also knowing that once again Starbuck will get the blame. So, all we have to do to relieve the pressure on Hera is to give hybrid Kara what she wants, and that means banishing Starbuck from the cockpit … permanently. And that's exactly what we're going to do."

"_What? _That's not going to happen!" Amelie Fordyce now had Lee Adama's full attention. "Doctor, crazy or not, Starbuck is still the best pilot in this fleet. We need her!"

"No, Lee, you don't. And just for the record, Lee, Kara Thrace is not crazy … and neither is Starbuck. They are both thriving personalities, but they are incompatible. There's no middle ground here. We have to choose between them, and long-term … human/hybrid Kara is much the better choice. Hers is the higher purpose, and that purpose must be served. So, when we leave this room, I want the word to go out fleet wide. I don't want anyone to use Kara's call sign, and if you see Starbuck running around out there, you ignore her. You do not acknowledge her existence. But we cut her a deal. With three capital ships and well in excess of a thousand fighters of all types going into the inventory, we need a super CAG. We invite Starbuck to teach human/hybrid Kara the ins and outs of the job, but with the clear understanding that this time she's the one who's going to recede into the background. We even promote her. How does Colonel Thrace sound to you? Gods know, the job sounds demanding enough to warrant a senior officer. Sonja continues to run the air wing on _Galactica_, and you do so over here. Find a CAG for the baseship that human/hybrid Kara just captured, and get Kara a pair of decent assistants … one Cylon … one human … both preferably male. Starbuck will be a lot happier about all this if Kara can extend her concept of family beyond the Sixes, and it will please her no end if Kara can build a stable working relationship with a couple of guys."

"Uh, Doctor … there aren't exactly a lot of choices when it comes to male Cylons around here." Lee was squirming noticeably in his chair. He carefully refrained from glancing at Leoben.

"Lee, you're right," Natalie sighed. "The choices are a bit limited. Leoben, do you have any brothers, _on either baseship,_ who could work with our daughter without driving her crazy?"

_Gods save us all,_ Cottle winced; _and to think that I once considered pairing Leoben and Baltar to be the ultimate in bad ideas. All we can do now is hope that the other side is just as lunatic as we are._


	30. Chapter 30: Look Homeward, Angel

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT. THE AGATHONS ARE AT IT AGAIN.**

CHAPTER 30

LOOK HOMEWARD, ANGEL

_The prophet scaled the heights of Mount Nippur, and God beheld His prophet kneeling on the heights. _

_And God heard the prayers that Ashram sent forth to Heaven, beseeching deliverance for the children of the Lord. _

_And God surveyed His Kingdom, and deemed the people worthy of His teachings. _

_And God set forth His Commandments on tablets of stone, and placed them in Ashram's outstretched arms. _

_Four bound fast the people to the Lord._

_Five marked out the path of righteousness. _

_And the Fifth Commandment was the binding stone._

_Honor Thy Father and Thy Mother, and Thou Wilst Honor the Lord Thy God._

_The Book of the One. Ashram 6: 1-8 _

. . .

His eyes slowly flickered awake, and a kaleidoscope of colors began to assault his brain. But they added up to nothing more than differing shades of white, and that made no sense at all. He felt a gentle pressure on his left hand, and he thought for a time about its meaning. Hours seemed to pass before he ventured the conclusion that someone was holding his hand, and caressing it with their thumb. A dim memory told him that the gesture had meaning, but it eluded him.

John Bierns tried turning his head to the left, but it required enormous effort, and the movement triggered a persistent, high-pitched ringing in his ears. It was at the very top of the frequency range, in that place where the human ear always strained to hear more and yet desired to hear nothing at all.

Shifting images collided and coalesced, and he finally registered a beautiful young woman sitting within arm's reach. She was holding his hand, kneading it, and John somehow knew that she had been here for hours, perhaps days. She was important to him, though he was not quite sure why. They had been together in the past, they were supposed to be together … but the memories that would tie all these random thoughts into a single coherent thread refused to surface.

"Welcome back," she whispered. He knew the voice, but in his mind it went with many different faces, and that confused him. _Shelly,_ his mind informed him … _Lydia … Six … Natalie ... Natasi … Mara. _There were so many faces … so many.

"How are you feeling?"

He read extraordinary concern in the young woman's eyes, heard it in the slight quaver in her voice, and he knew that there was nothing counterfeit about her emotions. They cared deeply for one another, there was a bond between them, but he couldn't remember. He tried harder, seeking out connections barely glimpsed in the dense fog that misted his brain.

_Gina. Her name is Gina._

"Gina," he whispered in return. His voice was hoarse, the one word wracking him with pain. Breathing was like walking through broken glass, but words … John wondered how long it had been since he had last used his voice.

There was movement at the periphery of his vision, and his eyes shifted to follow it. He was in bed, that much he understood, but the why of it was buried somewhere in a portion of his brain to which he was still denied access. His eyes focused on another beautiful young woman, one who had always reminded him of angels. She was tall and very blond, with penetrating blue eyes. They were staring at him now, and he read agony there. Something about him was causing her terrible pain.

"Natasi." And then he knew for certain that he was dreaming, perchance the dreams of the newly awakened dead. For Natasi was on Caprica … his agent … and Gina was on … was on …

_Pegasus. Gina was on Pegasus. I went there … to kill Cain … to free Gina. I made her a promise. Did I keep it?_

His mind summoned up disjointed images. He remembered a firefight in crowded corridors dense with smoke. There were explosions, and people screaming. He had kissed her, his heart bursting with pride and love, as they fought to make their escape from the enemy vessel. However, it must have been a trick of the mind, this sense that they had actually gotten away. Natasi had not been there and could not be here, and so it followed that he and Gina were dead. In the end, he had failed her after all.

"It's not fair." His voice cracking, John struggled to get the words out. Each one hurt, and doubly so when he had to pause for breath. "We're dead, and yet I feel like the morning after the night before. A hangover without getting falling down drunk … that's not fair … that's not fair at all."

"_John!" _There was sunlight in Natasi's voice, the one word conveying the enormity of her relief. She slid past Gina, and leaned over to kiss him tenderly on the forehead. A shard of memory flashed through his consciousness, and he knew that if he kissed her, she would taste of strawberries.

Natasi held up a water bottle, and brushed his lips with the straw. "Sip," she commanded, "but take it slowly. It will help ease the pain in your throat."

John obediently swallowed, and was surprised to discover that the liquid wasn't water but a heavier, syrupy concoction. He had tasted it before, a year earlier … on another baseship. The details flooded him; a dark cloud passed over his features, and it reached out to embrace the two Sixes.

"Sorry," he said; "this triggered some very bad memories."

"My mistake," Natasi apologized. "I should have realized …"

"It's okay." He made a conscious effort to relax, and smiled up at her. "It's soothing; thank you." _As hallucinations go,_ he thought to himself, _this one's in a class by itself. I'm stuck somewhere between Elysium and Hades. _

"Are you dead, too?" The question sounded inane, even to him, but John wanted to make sure that everyone was where they were supposed to be.

"We're not dead, silly." Natasi's voice had the softness of raindrops washing slowly down a glistening window pane.

A third figure entered the room, a somewhat older woman dressed in pure white. She was an angel in truth, and for the first time he thought that everything might be all right.

"Mother," he breathed. He sensed rather than heard shocked reactions all around him, and he belatedly recognized that there were more people in the room than he had realized. "I failed you. I never managed to make it home, never set you free. I'm sorry … I'm so, so sorry." The three sentences exhausted him.

The angel stood at the foot of the bed, silent, staring at him, a lone tear tracking down her left cheek. She didn't look angry or even reproachful; perhaps he had failed so many that she longer expected much of him. Perhaps she had known all along that he was not up to the task.

"I love you," she said; he could hear surprise in her voice, the words spoken clearly different from what she had intended to say. But they came from a hitherto unexplored corner of her heart, and he was glad.

"He appears to have a concussion," a serious male voice said from somewhere behind him. "Six, why don't you ask him to tell us what he remembers."

"John, we are on a Cylon baseship," Gina said, enunciating each word slowly and distinctly. "And there is a resurrection ship here as well. Both ships jumped here to find you, but the baseship travelled a great distance. The hybrids are in distress."

"My sisters," John answered automatically; his voice was slowly gathering strength. "I miss them." Broken fragments of long suppressed memory whirled through his brain. They had been born together, an entire generation of them somehow connected, but the females had remained behind when he had been cast out. There had been many deaths, an avalanche of failure that underpinned the final success. The Colony was a burial shroud, full of shattered hopes and casually discarded souls for whom no one save John Bierns had ever wept.

The seven Cylons in the room exchanged silent glances. Coming out of the drugs that had kept him sedated during the multiple surgeries, his body now full of antibiotics and pain medications, John's mind was adrift in the region that lay between the conscious and the subconscious world, floating easily back and forth across the divides that separated the present from the distant past. His words had the power of revelation; the First Born was the prophet who would bring truth to a people weaned on shadows and lies.

"John, do you remember what you were doing, how you got here?" Gina's voice was soft and coaxing.

"_Pegasus," _he tentatively answered. "I think … to protect the alliance … my family … I had to get on board and kill Admiral Cain … destroy the ship, if need be. I think I did, but everything's hazy."

"We damaged it; I believe that we damaged the ship quite badly."

"We did? It's hard to remember. You and I … we were pinned down, weren't we? You were shot. I recall blowing the door … protecting you from the explosion … getting shot myself. Somehow, we made it to the Raptor … made a blind jump … to wherever. I don't remember anything after that. So, how'd we get here … wherever we are?"

"We're still at the coordinates you entered. I memorized the constellations, and then blew my brains out. I downloaded, but can you believe it … onto the wrong resurrection ship." Gina laughed—a tearing, ragged sound. "But it didn't matter. The hybrid rushed to find you—just like the one on Caprica's baseship."

"So, I wasn't dreaming. Gina, I remember you being soaked in blood, but now you look … gods, you look beautiful. You were always beautiful."

"Thank you, John," she said with a small, sad smile; "it's a lovely compliment, even if it is drug induced."

John tried to sit up, but the room started spinning. "Frak," he cursed.

"Don't try to get up," Caprica soothed as she pushed his shoulders gently but firmly back down on his pillows. "You've just come out of surgery. It's going to take a while before you can move around."

"More surgery," he stated angrily. "Damn it, Natasi, you gave us projection. Why didn't you drop the ability to download into the genetic package while you were at it? Right about now," he groaned, "I could really use a new body."

"Downloading is overrated, John," Gina said with the same sad smile as she tried to calm him down. Residual traces of the powerful anesthetic were still in his system, and the drug was affecting the emotional centers of his brain. "You know what Helena would say, don't you? A shiny new body, but up on top it's still the same old head."

"Hey," he protested, "I'm rather fond of that head of yours—and the body that comes with it!" A painful coughing spasm wracked him, but he fought through it and reached over to cover Gina's hand with his own. For the first time, he noticed the IV. "A long time ago, I committed one of the few truly unforgiveable sins in my profession. I fell in love, with one of your sisters. The time that we had … it was the only time in my life that I've been happy. And now you …"

John stopped in mid-sentence, and looked deep into Gina's eyes. It was like looking into a mirror: her body might now be free of scars, but her mind would not let go of the beatings, the gang rapes, the endless, searing pain and humiliation. He could give guided tours of this particular path, but he had only been on it for a few days. Gina's journey had lasted months.

"Don't let Helena win," he suddenly blurted out. "She can't beat you because you have this incredible inner strength. It's how you survived … how you managed to endure the unendurable. I don't know whether what you went through has made you stronger or weaker … hell, maybe it's a bit of both … but I do know that it's changed you. You are _not_ 'the same old head'. Don't say it, don't even think it; Helena Cain doesn't deserve such a cheap victory, and the only way she can get it is if you give it to her."

"You should have left me behind," Gina countered. "To complete the mission … we both know that was the smart thing to do."

"There's no frakking way. I keep my promises … and I'm not just talking about the one I made to you. I'm also talking about one that I made to myself."

John sank deeper into his pillows. He was fading; the steel band that was constricting his chest was drawing tighter with each passing breath, but his eyes continued to hold Gina's in an iron grip of their own. "You know, I think about my father sometimes. I try to imagine him. He must have been stubborn … a proud, stubborn man with a rigid code of honor that governed his every action. Maybe he was Tauron … someone to whom family was everything. It certainly is to me. Gina, leaving you behind was never an option. Humans don't do that, and I'm half-human; no matter what the cost, we bring our people home."

"You're right," she nodded. "You let your human side take over. You made an emotional decision that jeopardized the mission. In your situation, I would have behaved differently."

"Yeah, sure;" John didn't believe her for a second. "You can disown me if you like; otherwise, in future you might want to keep in mind that your children are a couple of emotional cripples who just can't help riding to the rescue when their parents get in trouble. Kara regards every single Six as her mother, and her sense of duty … well, let's just say that we come from a very large family, and the two of us have so many parental obligations that it borders on the ridiculous. Please, leave the Cavils to us."

"No," Gina firmly retorted, "you are inverting the natural order of things. Parents have to keep their children safe, but they also have to give way. Parents must die for the children to come into their own. This is the way it's supposed to be."

"Yeah, well … don't rush it, because I figure that you owe us about twenty years' worth of hugs and kisses."

"Inviere," John went on, seemingly changing the subject; "the Old Gemenese word for 'resurrection'. Have you ever read The Book of the One?"

Gina shook her head; this was Leoben's province, not hers.

"It's far the oldest of the monotheist scriptures, a testament that leads us deep into Kobol's past. The Gemenese are the largest population group in the fleet, and within their ranks the sect still flourishes. Wherever Kara leads us, on that world the faith will plant new roots."

John suddenly dropped into a language so old and obscure that none of the Cylons had heard it before.

"_Copii, ascultaţi în Domnul de părinţii voştri, căci este drept. Să cinsteşti pe tatăl tău şi pe mama ta. Ca să fii fericit, şi să trăieşti multă vreme pe pămînt."_

"Do you understand?"

Gina again shook her head.

"_Children, be obedient to your parents in the Lord, for this is meet. Honor your father and your mother, that it may be well with you, and that you may long abide upon this ground."_

"We don't want our parents to suffer, Gina, and if anyone actually hurts them … αίμα για το αίμα. It's as simple as that. Kara and I will always fight for the people we love—and we will avenge those taken from us. And yes, we both know that sometimes there's a price to be paid, and that it can be very high. It doesn't matter. I've dealt with Cain, but I won't rest until the Cavils' account is paid … in full."

"_`Blood for blood',"_ Gina translated; she had downloaded Tauron in order to get close to Cain. "_Мέχρι εξοφλήσεως του χρέους:_ `until the debt is paid in full'." She shook her head in denial."Was everything you've suffered worth it, John?" Gina's sweeping gesture took in the whole of his body. "Was it? Your hearing is permanently damaged, and with it your sense of balance. When you stand, you won't be able to move around without assistance. There's no guarantee that it will ever get better … none whatsoever. Was all of this worth it to save one lone Cylon who didn't even want to be saved?"

"Hey, don't give up on me quite so easily." Bierns took another long pull on the water bottle. "I've twice been voted Rehab Patient of the Year!" John couldn't read the expression on Gina's face, but he sensed the turmoil underneath, and he knew self-loathing when he saw it.

"It was worth it," he softly concluded. "Gina, when you love someone, the sacrifice is always worth it."

. . .

Saul Tigh jumped to his feet and stood swiftly to attention. _"Attention,"_ he barked; "Admiral on deck."

"As you were," Adama quietly ordered as his officers began climbing to their feet. He walked into the conference room, with Natalie trailing behind him. Bill sat down at the head of the table, with the Cylon to his right and the XO on his left.

The Admiral looked down the table, and caught Kara Thrace's eye. Her obvious discomfort made it clear that he was going to be dealing with human/hybrid Kara, at least in the beginning.

"Kara, we don't see very much of you on _Galactica _anymore. Welcome back."

"Thank you, sir," she replied, but without adding the almost obligatory "it's good to be home."

Bill smiled to himself. He had read Amelie Fordyce's latest evaluation of his star pilot with great care. He was relying upon her recommendations to get them all through this meeting in one piece.

"Six, I would also like to take this opportunity personally to welcome you to both _Galactica_ and the fleet."

"Thank you, Admiral," the black-clad tactical officer replied. Natalie's counterpart was seated next to Sonja, with whom she was identical in almost every respect. Shelly had been coaching her husband in the fine art of telling Sixes apart. There were differences, however subtle, and he was getting better and better at picking up on them.

"On behalf of my brothers and sisters, I also wanted to thank you for the trust that you have placed in us. Frankly, none of us expected to remain in charge of our ship."

_You're not,_ the Admiral was sorely tempted to say, but he kept his peace. There was simply no point in rubbing the Six's nose in it. _Seventy-two hours ago, I would have sworn that the real power on your ship was the hybrid, but now I'm not even sure about that. _Learning that the baseship was aware, and that it liked to converse with Kara, was far and away the biggest shock that Bill had ever received—and life had brought him more than his fair share of surprises both good and bad.

"You chose to lay down your arms," Adama diplomatically responded; "I'm the one who should be thanking you for your display of trust. We're glad to have you here."

The Cylon dipped her head, silently acknowledging the compliment.

Bill glanced around the table. He couldn't recall ever having sat down with so many officers at one time, but the present situation was unprecedented.

"We are crossing unexplored terrain," he said to the gathering. "When Natalie brought her baseship to us, we jury rigged a command structure, and concentrated on integrating and cross-training our forces. But a second baseship brings far more than its additional firepower to this fleet. It gives us greater flexibility, and it challenges us to think more creatively about the problems that confront us every day. To date, ours has been a top down military structure, with highly centralized command and control. I have something quite different in mind for the future, but I want to begin by updating our current status. Six, how are repairs on your baseship proceeding?"

"Admiral, your pilots were most efficient; they took out all two hundred and twenty of our missile batteries. We have replacements, and we should be able to restore forty percent of our capacity within the next twelve days. But that's less than one hundred launchers. I cannot estimate repair time for the rest because the mountings were damaged, and we have to wait for the baseship to heal itself."

"What about the control room?"

The Six smiled enigmatically. "My sisters were equally efficient. The control room is a mess, but at least the ship seems to be prioritizing the repairs. I'm estimating eight days to restore full access to the stream."

"And the Raiders?"

"We're down thirty Heavy Raiders, and have less than two hundred operational fighters … the ones that you recovered from the battlefield. Sharon's anti-viral program restored all of their functions almost immediately, but that still leaves us down over five hundred units. The two manufacturing platforms are working around the clock, but it's going to take time. At current production levels, we are looking at two to three weeks to bring the Heavy Raiders up to strength, and nine to ten weeks for the Raiders."

"Admiral," Natalie said, "our needs are almost identical, so you can double the time figures."

Adama leaned back in his chair and did the math. "So, it will take roughly five months to make both baseships fully operational. I guess we won't be going on the offensive for a while."

"No," Natalie agreed, "but we can put the time to good use. We can implement the changes that you have in mind quickly enough, but ironing out the kinks could take a while."

"Dad, exactly what are we talking about here," Lee asked.

"First, we're going to bring our new baseship inside the communications and tactical umbrella that D'Anna and Sharon set up to link Natalie's control room to the CIC." Bill looked at the two Cylons in question. "So, the two of you are going to have a lot on your hands for the foreseeable future. I want all three ships to have real-time capabilities to support fully redundant command and control systems. If something happens to _Galactica_, I want Natalie to be able to assume operational command of the fleet with all necessary systems in place. If we are both knocked out, then Six steps into the breach. Sharon, are you up for this?"

Sharon Agathon placed both hands on her swollen belly. "Yes, sir," she replied; "Hera seems happiest when we both have something to do. She seems curious about everything going on around her."

"Good … I'm counting on you and D'Anna both. But if either of you need help, just ask for it."

"Kara," Adama continued, "when we get up to strength—what will the air wing look like?"

"We'll have slightly less than two full squadrons of Vipers, and over fifteen hundred Raiders. We can launch twenty Raptors with fully integrated crews right now, but if we want to integrate the Heavy Raiders, we're gonna need a lot more human pilots. Admiral, we're talking one hundred and sixty Heavy Raiders, and so far we've cross-trained less than forty of our pilots. And I haven't even mentioned maintenance yet. If you want humans to carry an equal share of the load, then we're gonna have to get some of the civvies off their duffs and put them to work."

"Well, Colonel, it sounds like you're also going to have your hands full."

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Kara Thrace looked at Adama, the confusion plain on her face.

"Congratulations on your promotion, Colonel Thrace. You are now in charge of our combined air wing, and from this point on you report only to me and the two commanders Six. I'm giving you Lieutenant Fears and one of the Twos to serve as your deputies. It's a big job, Kara, and I know that you won't particularly like flying a desk from here on out, but you're the only person who's logged in hundreds of hours on Vipers and has an intuitive feel for the strengths and weaknesses of the Raiders. I want you to take all the pieces and turn them into a cohesive whole. From now on, your job is to build and sustain the best air wing the Colonial fleet has ever seen."

"Sir." Kara was blinking furiously; she could barely begin to wrap her head around the assignment that the Admiral had just thrown at her.

"Lee, you'll continue to serve as CAG on the baseship; Sonja, it will be business as usual for you here on _Galactica_. Lieutenant Katraine, you'll be joining Colonel Thrace on Six's baseship. Congratulations … you've just made captain, and you will be serving as our third CAG. The three of you will be reporting to Kara."

"Thank you, sir!" Kat was taken completely by surprise.

"So, we're moving command of the air wing off _Galactica_." Lee nodded his head in understanding. "You're decentralizing command and control. It's a smart move, dad, but Natalie's right. We'll have to run a lot of simulations to get secondary command centers up to speed. There's no real substitute for the kind of experience that people like Gaeta and Dualla bring to their jobs."

"You're right, son, so I'm transferring Mr. Gaeta to the new baseship as well. I want a competent liaison officer over there, and Felix has been working smoothly with Sixes and Eights for months now. We can't rest on our laurels; I want him to put together a team that will dream up a second generation of logic bombs and computer viruses. Now that the Cavils know what we're up to, they'll redouble their own efforts in cyber warfare. We have to stay ahead of them."

"And that brings me to a special project that Natalie and I have cooked up for you. We want you to work with Galen's team and see if you can come up with a stealth Raider. An armed stealth ship with FTL capability would give us a weapon that could dominate future battlefields."

"Uh, dad … Galen's got a lot on his plate at the moment … no pun intended."

"I hear you, son. Reun's digestive problems will continue to take precedence, but as soon as Galen and Doctor Cottle have sorted her out, I want you to get moving on this."

Adama looked down the table and caught Cottle's eye. "Sherman, I guess that brings us to you. Are you making any progress?"

"Admiral, I'm still getting acquainted with my … uh … patient, but you are not going to believe the latest."

Adama just looked at him steadily.

"I asked Doc Piersall to come over from the _Inchon Velle_ and give it … her … whatever … a dental checkup."

Lee and Kara both started giggling helplessly; the two of them knew what was coming.

"The hybrid has several cavities that need to be filled. She also needs to have a mammogram and a pap smear, but I'm damned if I know how we're supposed to do any of this. She may not be ovulating, but all the plumbing is actually there, so she needs the standard ob/gyn screenings."

Bill lowered his head and stared at the table for a long moment. Life in the Colonies had _never_ been this complicated.

"Sherman," he sighed with resignation, "is there anything else that we need to know?"

"Yeah, and this one is probably pretty important. Everybody here knows that John and Kara have strands of the hybrid's DNA spliced into their own, right?"

Everybody in the room, including Kara, nodded in agreement.

"Well, Baltar never checked and I was curious, so I obtained a sample of Reun's DNA and reversed the tests. I wanted to find out what makes her tick. It turns out that Reun is not conventionally related to Kara, by which I mean that the human DNA is different. But she is related to John. They share a common ancestor, most likely their father. They really are half brother and sister, which means that the major is twice related to this hybrid and perhaps to others. Whatever the Cavils were doing thirty-five years ago, we are a long way from knowing the whole of it. Unless somebody objects, therefore, I would like to harvest DNA samples from the other two hybrids and run the same tests. And I could use tissue samples from this baseship that finds Colonel Thrace so fascinating. Does anybody want to place a bet on what we're going to find under the microscope?"

. . .

"In conclusion, as I take command of _Pegasus_, I pledge to uphold those values that made Admiral Cain such an effective and heroic leader."

Kendra Shaw stared for a long moment at the banner that discreetly concealed the admiral's remains from public view. The bomb that had killed her commanding officer had also vaporized much of her body. The clean-up squad had recovered most of her legs and a couple of fingers, but it was only through DNA analysis that they had been able to confirm that this was indeed Helena Cain.

Shaw lifted her head, and looked down the twin files of commissioned and noncommissioned officers—some but by no means all of them in their formal dress uniforms. Some of her crew had returned to their quarters only to discover that they had been incinerated by bombs or grenades. Bierns and the Cylon had inflicted enormous damage on the battlestar's command deck.

"We all recognize," she continued, "the difficulty of our current situation. We have lost the admiral. We have lost Colonel Fisk. We have lost Mr. Garner, our Chief Engineer. And we have lost hundreds of our crewmates. But we have known difficulties before, we have suffered losses before … and yet _Pegasus _still endures. And we will get through this. The admiralty understood that any ship of the line could find itself in our current situation … light years from a habitable planet, the FTL's permanently offline. They anticipated that a battlestar might have to survive out here in the dark, not for years but for generations, with no other resources than those at the crew's immediate fingertips. So, we have food, and we have the means to grow more. We won't die of thirst, and we won't starve. We have abundant energy reserves with which to heat the ship, and we have enough tylium on hand to continue sending out patrols and to defend ourselves if the Cylons find us. We are still the masters of our fate, and right now the most serious threat that we face is a loss of faith in ourselves. Never lose sight of the fact that our single, greatest resource is the men and women who have devoted so much of their lives to _Pegasus_, to the fleet, and to the Colonies. So long as we survive, the Colonies endure … and we will not fail."

"Mr. Hoshi, I want you to assume the XO's duties. Technically, this involves a promotion to the rank of colonel, but I don't think that we need concern ourselves with such niceties at the moment. Mr. Laird, you will have to step in for Mr. Garner and serve as our chief engineer. Your first task is to restore or replace those portions of the sensor array that were damaged or destroyed during our engagement with _Galactica_ and the baseship. We're almost completely blind, Mr. Laird, and we can't afford to stay that way. Captain Taylor, for the time being the Vipers will have to serve as our eyes, but we also need to limit our fuel consumption. Work up a deployment package that gives us comprehensive surveillance of surrounding space, and submit it to the XO for his approval. Department heads … use your staff to get your own facilities in order first, and then report to the XO for additional assignments. Have everybody be on the alert for more booby traps, and keep a sharp eye out for anything that threatens hull integrity. If you see a problem … if you even think that there's a problem in the making … report in to the CIC immediately. We can't afford to vent atmosphere."

Shaw drew herself stiffly to attention. "Honor Guard, show the colors." She counted silently to five, and then punched a button on the dais in front of her. The huge plates that sealed the airlock off from the rest of the ship slowly slid into place. Kendra pushed a second button, which opened the airlock to space; Helena Cain's few remains were instantly drawn out into the vacuum, condemned to drift forever beneath the pitiless gaze of the uncaring stars.

. . .

The next time that he awoke, John Bierns found himself in semi-darkness. Someone had thoughtfully turned the lights down so that he could rest more comfortably. A single Eight was sitting quietly to his left; otherwise, he was alone.

"Hi," he said in a quiet but warm voice; "what's your name?"

"Eight," she replied; she was staring at him, her eyes large and luminous.

"I'm John."

"I know."

"Are you my nurse?"

"One of them. The Fours brought several of us over from the resurrection ship to take care of you."

"Lucky me," John grinned.

The Eight's face remained devoid of expression. It was obvious that the pleasantry had sailed right past her.

"You haven't interacted with humans very much, have you?"

"I have never even seen a human," she responded forcefully; "I still haven't."

"Ah," John conceded, "good point. But if there's a cylon side to my personality, I've never found it. In that respect, I'm about as human as they come." He held out his hand. "Please, come closer."

The Eight slid her chair closer to the bed, and gingerly reached out to take the hybrid's hand. It was warm to her touch.

"Humans have an expression … when someone is visibly afraid or paralyzed by uncertainty, it reminds them of a deer trapped in the headlights. The way you're looking at me …"

John's eyes lit up with amusement. "Eight, I don't bite … really … well, except maybe during foreplay. Okay, so I'm a hybrid and you haven't seen one of those before either, but please … try to think of me as a person. It's disconcerting to have someone stare at me like I'm some kind of new and exotic alien species."

The Eight blinked, but in very slow motion. Measurable time passed, and it left him with the oddest sensation that she was accessing a file somewhere in her head.

"Do you really bite … during foreplay?"

"Well … I have been known to nibble here and there."

"Where," she immediately asked.

"Huh? Are you serious?" The Eight's face was still devoid of expression. "Yeah, I guess you are," he muttered to himself as he continued to study her.

"Would you like me to show you?"

"Yes; I would like that very much."

"Okay," he smiled. "Let's make a date. When I've recovered enough to get around, you and I will go off and find a nice, quiet corner of this ship … someplace comfortable where we won't be disturbed. There I'll introduce you to a wonderful, old human tradition called 'making out'. If that's not in your data base, try accessing 'heavy petting session'."

The Eight blinked again, but this time her lips curled into a light smile, and a knowing look came into her eyes. "I've never been 'out on a date', she confessed. She looked at John provocatively. "Are you what humans call 'a fun date'?"

"Definitely," he laughed. "I definitely know how to show a smart, beautiful young woman a good time!"

"You're nice," the Eight said. She had visibly relaxed. "Are all of the humans like you?"

"Eight, there are guys on _Galactica_ who could charm the bark off of trees. When we catch up with the fleet, I'll introduce you and your sisters to some of them. But I warn you … after that, you're strictly on your own!"

. . .

Sharon Agathon was approaching the end of another very long day, and she knew exactly how she wanted to finish it. Over the past three weeks she had become insatiable. She was wet when she awoke, she was wet when she went to sleep, and she seemed to lubricate non-stop throughout the day. Her nipples, which only a month earlier had brought her pain that routinely approached the threshold of her endurance, were now alive with need. No matter how many orgasms she experienced, it was never enough. No matter how many times she frakked Helo, she was never satisfied.

Sharon silently cursed the episode that had put her in sickbay. Doc Cottle was right to take unexplained vaginal bleeding seriously, but she silently cursed him anyway. _Play it safe, _he'd told the two of them; limit yourselves to masturbation and oral-genital contact. He'd even discouraged the latter, grimly pointing out to Karl that an air bubble in the vaginal cavity could produce an embolism that would threaten the life of both mother and child. Helo had taken the lecture to heart, convinced himself that she was just one sexual romp away from a miscarriage. Noble, self-sacrificing Helo was willing to embrace total abstinence right up to her delivery; he was, in short, driving her to complete distraction.

She had tried reasoning with him. Hera, she had patiently explained, was still sitting high up on her pelvis, with a small ocean of amniotic fluid cushioning her. There was nothing to worry about, she kept explaining; their daughter was completely safe, and one couldn't help but notice that she studiously refrained from thrashing about when her parents were making love. It was almost as if she was encouraging her parents to be intimate.

She had tried seducing him. Helo was drowning in her pheromones, and she knew exactly where to touch him and how to kiss him to ensure maximum arousal. But the stubborn lug had insisted that they adopt positions that discouraged deep penetration. Doggy-style, side-to-side, both front and back—they had tried them all, and none of them did anything more than whet her appetite. Sharon Agathon was fed up. She was frustrated. And tonight, she was going to get what she wanted. She was a Cylon, and she was strong—physically much stronger than her human husband. She had been careful never to allow him more than the barest glimpse of that strength, but tonight she was going to lift the curtains and let him see what had always been lurking back stage. If it came to it, she was prepared to get so aggressive that some might even call it rape.

She was lying in their bed, naked under the concealing covers. Helo's routine never varied. He would come back from the shower in his tank tops and pants, which he would hang neatly in their locker. He would hang his towel, so that it would dry overnight. And all of this with his back turned to her.

Sharon slid out of bed and crept up silently behind him. No one appreciated just how quiet Cylons could be when the circumstances required. Helo turned around and, taken completely by surprise, backed up involuntarily against the locker. _Right where I want you,_ Sharon triumphantly thought. She lashed out, grabbed his wrists, jerked his arms up, and pinned them violently against the locker. Except for his shorts, her husband was completely naked, and she attacked his chest and nipples with her teeth and tongue.

"_Sharon, what the …"_

"Shut the frak up, Helo." She was glaring at him. "I've got better uses for your mouth than listening to another boring summation of how your day went. Today went just like yesterday, and tomorrow's gonna be more of the same … so enough."

Sharon suddenly released his wrists so that she could reach up and encircle his neck. She forcefully pulled his head down, and kissed him hard. She forced his lips apart, and rammed her tongue into his mouth, questing … questing.

Helo started to moan, and Sharon dropped her arms so that she could begin running her fingernails lightly up and down his sides. Karl was ticklish, but when he was aroused, his ticklishness produced immediate and truly spectacular results. She could feel him begin to harden against her body. She reached down with her right hand and offered a bit of gentle encouragement to move things along.

Sharon cradled Helo's neck in her left hand, and pushed down hard. His knees flexed, and his body began to lower itself involuntarily, his back still pressed hard against the cold metal of the locker. When he was in the right position, Sharon offered Karl her right breast, and he leaned forward to slide it insensibly into his mouth. He needed no further encouragement. He began gently to tease her nipple with his teeth and tongue, and then he took her aching breast and rock hard nipple into his mouth and started to suck. As Sharon continued to play with his penis, he began to suck harder.

Sharon moaned, louder and louder; sex with Helo had always been great, but tonight they were travelling to the far side of the known universe. Suddenly, Helo broke away and looked up at her, his eyes wide with shock.

"Sharon, _you're lactating_!"

"It's called colostrum. Think of it as a preview of things to come … a sort of warm-up for the real thing. It won't hurt you, so go ahead and swallow it," she sternly ordered as she pushed his head back into place. "I want you to get used to the taste of all my fluids because there are going to be times when Hera's full and I'll need you to relieve the pressure on my breasts."

"You mean," Helo sort of half mumbled. It was hard to speak clearly when you had your wife's engorged breast in your mouth.

"Exactly," she cut him off. "And I gather that the sex is going to be really fantastic!"

Abruptly, Sharon pulled away. She grabbed Helo just above the elbows, and lifted him off his feet. She carried her astonished husband across the two meters that separated the locker from their bed, and threw him down roughly on his back. She quickly mounted him, and since he was more than ready, she guided his penis deep inside her. Sharon had been doing her research, she had been exercising, and now she clamped down hard on Karl's member. With a bit of exercise and a fair amount of practice, all women could use their vaginal muscles to get a firm grip on the organ, but the phenomenon known as _penis captivus_ was so rare that in human circles it had acquired almost mythical standing. However, Sharon was cylon, and as Karl Agathon was about to find out, _all _of her muscles were stronger than their human analogs.

She leaned far forward, carrying Karl's imprisoned organ helplessly along with her, and they began to kiss frantically. Karl's body wanted to move- it had a life of its own- but Sharon wouldn't permit it. Instead, she began lightly to swirl her hips, each rotation bringing one especially sensitive spot on the wall of her vagina into grazing contact with his shaft. Sharon began to perspire, the droplets of sweat dripping down onto Karl's forehead. Her body was on fire; if she had been lying on her back, by now the sheets would have undoubtedly burst into flame.

Sharon rocked back and dragged Helo's head down to her left breast, which was crying out, demanding equal attention. He began to suck no less insistently; she could feel his throat muscles working as he swallowed her first milk. Slowly, she began to move her body up and down his captive member, his shaft just touching and teasing her engorged clitoris even as his tip probed the farthest reaches of her love canal.

Sharon was already in ecstasy, but there was no limit to how much further she might go. She opened herself wide to the first, fiery orgasm that engulfed her, but not for a second did she relax her grip on Karl's penis. The tension increased the power of her climax tenfold. _Forget the far side of the known universe,_ she exulted; _this is a universe of my own creation!_

The control that she had over Helo's body carried her to heights that she had never even imagined to exist. And even as she slid down from the peak her body tensed, readying itself for her second assault on the heavens. Helo belonged to her body and soul, and she reveled in the act of possession. He had always been a generous lover, but tonight she was going to start training him to a higher standard. Twenty minutes later, she luxuriated in the wash of her second orgasm, this one every bit as satisfying as the first.

Minutes turned into hours, and two orgasms turned into seven. At some point Helo's moans had transformed themselves into a plaintive wail, and eventually he was reduced to begging. _I'm so close,_ he kept telling her, _so close._ He kept pleading that he couldn't take it anymore … that his brain was melting … _that he had to come_. But Sharon refused to relent. She was an Eight, after all, and symmetry demanded that she scale the heights one last time. _Eight mind-blowing orgasms for Sharon the Eight,_ she gleefully reckoned; _that has a very nice ring to it! _She kissed Helo with greater tenderness, cooed to him. _Soon, my love; I want us to come together … it will be soon. _And then she put him back to work.

When she sensed that she was near, Sharon finally relaxed her grip, and Helo was instantly transformed into a charging piston. She was still on top, but Karl had at least momentarily banished all of his earlier reservations about deep penetration. He carried both of them over the top in one last, thunderous climax, the sounds of their lust rolling along the corridor to penetrate the quarters of their neighboring officers. . . .

The following morning, Sharon awoke early. She shook Helo's shoulder gently, and then with greater insistence. She was already well lubricated, she was already horny, and she was already frustrated. It was going to be another long day, but she was determined to get it off to a good start.

. . .

"Come on, Lieutenant; you're not gonna get any better lying on your ass all day."

Doc Cottle was standing at the foot of Stallion's bed, puffing contentedly on his cigarette while he surveyed his uncooperative patient. "I swear to gods," he continued … "you pilots are the biggest crybabies in the whole damned fleet. You break one lousy, little bone and you promptly start acting like the world is coming to an end."

"Come on yourself, Doc," Lieutenant Hephaestus Jerome Fears protested; "it hurts like hell, and you know it."

"Of course it hurts like hell. It's supposed to. But what I'm trying to pound into that thick skull of yours is that the longer you lie around the worse it's gonna get."

"Doctor Cottle is right, sweetheart," Aphrodite said. "It's been ten days, now. The ligaments, tendons, muscles … everything is starting to atrophy … in both legs. You need to get on your feet. No one wants you to put any weight on your left leg- it will be another month before you are ready for that kind of rehabilitation- but you need to exercise your right leg. And you must know that standing up and moving around a little will do wonders for your circulation. Artemis and I will help you, won't we, sister?" Aphrodite looked at the other Six, who was a carbon copy of herself.

"Absolutely," Artemis replied. She held out a pair of crutches. "Sweetheart, we're not going anywhere until you can hobble down to the hangar deck, get on board a Heavy Raider, and let us fly you home. Doctor Cottle is beginning to get a little frustrated … I think he wants his beds back."

Artemis and Aphrodite had hijacked two of Doc Cottle's precious hospital beds, and moved into sickbay for the duration.

Artemis leaned down to whisper in Stallion's ear. "The doctor is a little frustrated, but can you imagine how my sister and I feel? Sweetheart, it's been eleven days since we last … you know. We are both ready to start climbing the walls. Don't you love us anymore? Don't you care about us?"

With a sigh, the handsome Viper jock with the self-effacing smile swung his legs over the side of the bed. The two Sixes helped him to his feet, and Artemis gave him the crutches. He poked them out in front of him, and then shifted his weight forward, being careful to keep it entirely on his right leg.

"Oh, frak, but that hurts!" The mere act of sliding his left leg forward had tensed muscles, and the resultant pain was excruciating. "Doc, I'm gonna need one of your happy pills," Stallion complained.

"Sorry, but starting today we're weaning you off the pain killers. We have to save some for the next overindulged pilot to come wandering down the corridor. Just yesterday, your friend Skulls was in here whining about a toothache. I offered to pull the offending tooth, but he wouldn't hear of it. What a baby."

"Doc, do you seriously expect this reverse psychological bullshit to have any effect?" Stallion eased forward another step. _"Frak!"_

"That sounds good to me," Aphrodite exclaimed with a deadpan expression. "Doctor," she said to Cottle, "is there any reason why we can't … you know …"

"As long as you're on top and you're extremely careful about where you rest your weight, there is no medical reason why the three of you can't resume your normal sexual activity," Cottle answered. His expression was equally deadpan. "Just try and keep the noise down to a dull roar. Stallion's not the only patient in here, and some of the others actually do need to get some rest."

"Keep him on his feet," Cottle told the two Sixes before he left to resume his rounds.

Aphrodite walked to the entrance of the cubicle and reached up to pull the curtains shut. Then she turned around and held out her arms. "Come to me, sweetheart; I promise that I've got something that you will like a lot better than Doctor Cottle's happy pills!"

With a groan, Hephaestus pushed himself forward, one agonizingly painful step at a time. Aphrodite was right. There was therapy … and then there was _therapy_. It was his wondrously good fortune to share a bed with not one but two of the most beautiful women in the universe, and they weren't the only ones anxious to go home. He needed to know whether he was still man enough to make them happy. The thought that he might no longer quite measure up had somehow climbed the ladder from his subconscious to his conscious mind, and it was beginning to gnaw at him in the worst possible way.

. . .

"It must be a wonderful place," the Eight said.

She was standing to the right of the bed, and with his head turned away John had to strain to hear her. Gina hadn't been exaggerating; his hearing on the right side was completely shot.

The Eight was holding his right foot in her clasped palms and she was pushing hard, bobbing his knee up closer and closer to his shoulder. Every time they did the exercise, John was convinced that his hamstring would tear, but somehow she always sensed the precise moment when his body had reached its limits.

"Now, push back. Come on, John, you can do better than this … push harder!"

He strained to stretch his leg out, but the Eight was deceptively strong; it was like trying to push a brick wall out of the way.

"What do you mean?"

The Eight could hear the puzzlement in his voice. "Your sleep is always so troubled," she admitted. "Caprica says that you have really bad dreams, and I believe her. It's painful to watch you sleep."

"Caprica?"

"The Six you know as Natasi. We call her Caprica now. Caprica Six … Hero of the Cylon," the Eight said with a slight laugh.

"What else did she tell you?"

"She told us that you can project in ways that we can't, like the original Daniel Graystone avatars. Is it true? I've watched you, and there are times when you have your eyes closed but you're not sleeping. You look so peaceful, so happy. Where do you go?"

"There's a place on Aquaria, called Galatea Bay. It's beautiful … a true tropical paradise. I go there to be with my sisters."

"The hybrids, you mean? They also have this ability?"

"Yes, they do. All hybrids seem to be able to move back and forth at will between the two dimensions, in the same way that you can transform this room into a forest glen if it suits your mood."

The Cylon released John's foot, and moved around to take hold of his left ankle. "Now, flex your toes," she commanded.

The Eight put John through a series of exercises, all designed to keep the circulatory system in his left leg functioning efficiently. She had also discovered ways to work his calf muscles and his knee that did not stress the femur. The latter, she knew, was healing at a miraculous rate because as Gina had predicted, the First Born's immune system was not rejecting the organic resin that the Cylons used to heal fractures in the baseship's superstructure. Simon was now predicting that the bone wouldn't simply be good as new … it would be stronger than ever, and yet more flexible. He badly wanted to break the hybrid's right leg and allow it to heal in the same fashion, and he did not understand why Gina and Caprica so vehemently opposed the procedure.

"Eight, I'm sorry to be such a bother." John's apology was heartfelt. He had been bedridden for the past ten days, and four of the Sharons had been nursing him around the clock. They brought his meals, supplied bedpans, and cleaned him up after the fact without complaint. The exercises were commingled with massages, and the hot oil rubdowns were little short of heaven. He knew that they were meant to keep bed sores at bay, but still … for the moment, at least, he was in Elysium.

The Eight looked at the hybrid curiously; his reasoning often baffled her. "It is our privilege to assist in your recovery," she finally said. "Has it escaped your attention that everyone on this ship wishes to help you?"

"Well," John said with a grin, "I do seem to be very popular." It was true. When he was awake, Cylons came to his room in a steady stream. Some stood in the doorway, and wordlessly stared at him before finally moving off. The bolder ones came in and gathered around his bed, but they too remained silent and staring. It was in these bizarre moments that he felt like nothing quite so much as the latest arrival at the petting zoo. More than once, he had wondered whether they expected him to start performing tricks.

Only the boldest actually pulled up a chair, reached for his hand, and talked to him like he was a real person instead of some exotic new life form. Some of these conversations had been surprising, but three of them had been heartwarming.

It turned out that no less than three of the Cylons with whom he had mixed it up on the surface of post-apocalyptic Caprica were on the ship, and one by one, they had each come to visit him.

The blond-haired Six had been the first. She had sat down, but she had said nothing. She had stared at him like all the others, but she meant nothing to him, and so he had dismissed her.

"My name is Cynthia," she had suddenly said without preamble; "do you remember me?"

John didn't. He had rubbed shoulders with a couple of thousand Sixes in his day, and this one, with her short, casually curled blond locks, was just one more of what he privately considered the prototype for the whole model. She wasn't as decorative as Caprica, but he would never confuse her with Lydia, Gina, Natalie, or the Six with no name.

He looked at her pensively, encouraging her to continue.

"It was on Caprica, after the attacks. I was the predator and you were the prey … or so I thought right up to the moment when you struck me down. Do you remember?"

John nodded. "You were using centurions to track me, so I destroyed them in order to isolate you. Then I challenged you to a fair fight … hand-to-hand combat, no weapons on either side. You accepted the challenge, and rushed to the attack."

"It wasn't much of a fight," Cynthia ruefully conceded. "In fact, it was over in less than five seconds. I lost."

"You were untrained and arrogant," John pointed out; "for all of your strength and agility, it made you vulnerable."

"I hated you. I took all of the hate that had been poured into me and distilled it down to its essence. You were everything I hated. But all I saw in your eyes was pity, and that infuriated me even more. If I had been able to move, I would have torn you limb from limb."

"I know."

"And then you told me that I was asleep, but that one day I would wake up. I would see the lies for what they were, and make common cause with the humans … turn against the Ones."

"And now here we are."

"And now here we are," Cynthia quietly agreed. "John, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me the truth?"

"Would you have believed me? I had no proof to offer you. Would you have simply taken my word for it?"

"I might have. It would certainly have made me think."

"And if you had told others, you would have been boxed. Cynthia, I was trying to protect you. I wanted to sow the seeds of doubt, and give them time to mature. Before the holocaust, hundreds of your brothers and sisters turned against the plan, and one by one the Cavils systematically destroyed them. I learned from that experience, and I passed on what I learned to Caprica. She had to work in the shadows, creating new doubt and harvesting the old. She was building a peace movement, but we both knew that in the end it would become an army. We always knew that it would come to this."

"_You were trying to protect me? I wanted to tear you apart, and you were trying to protect me?"_ The Six wasn't simply taken aback; the statement, so matter-of-factly delivered, momentarily stunned her.

John kept quiet; he couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound clichéd.

"And Gina … my sister," Cynthia eventually went on. She was shaking her head, drowning in self-doubt. "You barely knew her, and yet you went back for her. You were willing to die for someone who was little more than a stranger, and your injuries … you dismiss them so casually … a price to be paid, and you willingly paid it. John, I … no, we … none of us understand you. Revenge … yes, that we can understand … but to sacrifice your life for a stranger … to attach greater value to loyalty and promises made than to life itself, when there's no hope of resurrection … how can you do this? Please, tell me; _make me understand_."

The Six was confused and miserable, and hers was hardly an isolated case. It was one thing to learn that you had children. It was harder to cope with the knowledge that you had been lied to and manipulated from the moment of your activation by people you trusted and thought you loved. But to have your most basic assumptions and beliefs systematically turned on their head … to sit down opposite the tangible evidence of your own selfishness and lack of imagination …

"You see resurrection as a blessing," John gently answered; "but I see it as a curse. It cheapens the meaning of life, but more importantly … it robs you of the chance to make those decisions that give life its individual worth. It's a crutch, and you lean on it so heavily that you are unable to stand on your own two feet. You will never know who you are because it will always prevent you from testing your limits. You will never know what it means to risk all for something greater than yourself. And it will always put a brake on your ability to love. Gina told me that parents have to die for children to come into their own, and that seems to be an article of faith among your people. But you cannot die for me, Cynthia, not with a resurrection ship parked right next door. But I can and perhaps one day will die for you … that may well be my fate. But it doesn't bother me because mortals cannot escape death. Ah, but if we're lucky, we get to choose the terms on which we embrace it. How we die … what we die for … these are a testament to the life we've led, and the way in which we wish others to remember us. Now do you understand?"

She did. Cynthia and the Eight who had been attending John at that moment looked at each other. They both understood. The first born child had just triggered the single most important debate that the Cylon collective would ever entertain. For John Bierns, it was another seed in the garden.

. . .

Shelly Adama poured steaming hot coffee into two mugs, and set them down in front of Kara and Saul. Ever the good host, her husband was simultaneously serving tea to the commanders of his two Cylon baseships. Then he poured a third cup for her, and finally one for himself.

Shelly took her customary seat on the couch at Bill's side. Once he had decided to make a command level meeting a weekly ritual, she had urged her husband to hold it in the comfort of their personal quarters rather than one of the more sterile conference rooms. Her two sisters, she had argued, would be more forthcoming in an informal and relaxed setting than in a formal one.

Bill took a sip of his tea, and Shelly couldn't help but smile. She knew that he much preferred coffee, but she had come to appreciate that her husband could be a subtle man. Three Sixes drinking tea while two humans and a hybrid drank coffee hinted at divides that he was eager to put behind them.

"Sister, how are you feeling?" Natalie was looking at her with sympathy and concern.

Shelly picked up her own cup, and shrugged lightly. She nodded at the trashcan that sat discreetly at her feet. "It's hard to keep anything down, and I feel like I've got ants crawling under my skin. But the Admiral is always here for me, and Sharon and Giana keep telling me that the misery will eventually pass. Sharon says that Bill and I will really enjoy the sixth month of my pregnancy."

The XO snorted out loud. "Yeah, Lieutenant Agathon really looks like he's having fun these days!" Ellen and Saul were only two compartments away from the Agathons, and they had both come to the conclusion that Sharon was having the time of her life. Helo, in contrast, increasingly reminded them of a battery whose charge was nearly exhausted.

"How's Creusa," Bill asked.

"About the same," Natalie answered. "She wants to string Lee up by his thumbs one minute, and in the next she's asking him to give her a massage. Her moods are quite unpredictable, which no doubt explains why your son spends so much time with nurse Karanis. She's helping him cope, while she's teaching all of us about the intricacies of parenthood. Fighting a war seems rather straightforward by comparison."

"Tell me about it," Bill honestly replied. "I wasn't a very good husband or father the first time around, but these days I haven't got any excuses. Lee and I will probably end up walking the floor together. I'm beginning to wonder what the CIC is going to look like a year from now."

"Probably something like our control room," Natalie ventured with a smile.

"Admiral," the Six asked, "will we be permitted to visit the two Gemenese women who are bearing our children?"

"Not at the moment," Shelly hastily intervened. "They have both recovered from surgery and are doing well physically, but like all the other women on those three ships, they have been severely traumatized. Sharon and I visit them regularly, but Giana O'Neill always comes with us. I think Creusa would be welcome as well, but that's it."

"But …"

"No, sister," Shelly said more forcefully. "The answer is no. Their faith demands that they bring these children into the world, but it does not require them to love or even to raise the infants. We have had frank discussions about adoption. Would you consider taking one of the children and raising it as your own?" Shelly looked pointedly at the baseship commander.

"Finding an adoptive Cylon parent," Natalie smoothly suggested, "will not be a problem. It's making a choice among the thousands of willing applicants that will cause difficulties."

"Would that all of our problems were so benign," Adama sighed. He wanted to change the subject. "Six, please bring us up to speed on the repairs to your ship."

"Admiral, we completed repairs to the control room five days ago, and D'Anna and Sharon have finished installing the new communications and tactical uplinks. They are currently testing a variety of data transfer packages; with Mr. Gaeta's help, they are trying to create an effective interface between our data stream and the tactical station in your CIC. Getting our two very different systems to talk to one another efficiently is proving to be quite a challenge."

"Kara, what's the current status of the air wing?"

"In the last two weeks, we've added a hundred and twelve Raiders and twenty-three Heavy Raiders to the inventory. We're holding to the projected schedule. Chief Tyrol also helped me devise a questionnaire, which we distributed throughout the civilian fleet. We're trying to index technical skills, and isolate those individuals who might have an aptitude for Raider and Heavy Raider maintenance. Lieutenant Fears and I are working our way through the responses, and we already have some candidates in mind, but with over forty thousand pieces of paper in front of us, it's going to take some time. At this point, Admiral, it would probably be a good idea for you to start setting some guidelines and policies for us to follow. What we really need to know is whether we're going to be recruiting the civvies, or impressing them into service."

"Thank you, Kara; I'll take that one under advisement." _And I'll dump it on Roslin's desk at my earliest possible convenience._ "Do you have anything else?"

"Yes, sir. Kat has asked me to file yet another formal request to send the Twos down the nearest available wormhole. Once again, sir … I second the request, sir!"

"I understand, Colonel … but once again … request denied."

"Sir, with all due respect … they're useless. Somebody really needs to get in their heads and check the wiring!"

"Commanders … is there anything that either of you wishes to say?"

"Admiral," the Six answered, "candidly … we've spent years trying to find something constructive for our brothers to do with their time. We've failed. They swim in the data stream, they hang on the hybrid's every word, and they like to tinker with gadgets. That's it. They're not clinicians like the Fours, and they don't have the administrative aptitude of the Threes and Fives. They loathe maintenance; indeed, they hate anything that even remotely smacks of structured routine. Again, to be frank, the rest of us have been hoping that Kara would invent something for them to do."

"And Kat's problem is …"

"Sexual harassment, sir," Kara said wickedly. "The Twos have put the Guide- which would … uh … be me, sir- on a pedestal, and for reasons perhaps best left unexplored have transferred their … uh, collective affection … to Captain Katraine. They don't have much finesse, and they really are weird, sir."

"I understand, Kara … but I don't expect this sort of problem to make it to my desk. You're a senior officer now, so behave like one. You can start by reminding Kat that she's the CAG over there, and the CAG is supposed to solve problems, not whine about them. Or you can hold her hand and shoulder the problem yourself … it's your call. Make the appropriate entries in your log, and get on with it."

"Yes, sir."

"Anything else?"

The Six looked at Natalie, who nodded slightly.

"Admiral, I believe that we should start planning a mission back to the Colonies. I estimate that there are between six and seven thousand human survivors on Caprica alone. There are thousands more on Picon and Gemenon."

"Did you get sloppy," Tigh asked sarcastically.

"No, Colonel," the Six shot back. "We had second thoughts about the extermination of your race. On Caprica and Picon, we declared a unilateral truce."

"And Gemenon?"

Natalie smiled tightly, and there was an odd look in her eyes. "When we had finished nuking your planets from orbit, the hybrids began singing a funeral dirge: 'the courthouses of Libran are burning' … and so forth. The Ones, the Fives, and the Eights were all so busy celebrating our success that they failed to notice that Gemenon never made the list. Oh, we nuked Oranu and Illumini, but when the Threes laid out the targeting package, they kept everything well away from the northern mountains."

"Why?" Adama was curious about the Cylons' reasoning.

"There are temples in the northern mountains that are sacred to us … the home of our faith. The Threes were as intent upon genocide as the other models, but not at the cost of sacrilege. The Sixes and the Twos agreed with the Threes; the copies of our models conspired to protect our sacred places. The Threes artfully neglected to bomb them, and the Sixes somehow never got around to leading centurions on assaults that would stain hallowed ground with sacrificial blood."

"Well, I'll be Hera's uncle," Tigh exclaimed in wonder. "Your collective was already in trouble before the bombs started falling!"

"The Threes have always been secretive," Natalie conceded. "For some reason, they don't really trust the rest of us, and they have always been inclined to act without seeking consensus."

"But radiation does not discriminate between the sacred and the profane," the Six bluntly reminded them all. "If we're going back, we need to go sooner rather than later."

. . .

On the fifteenth day, Caprica Six walked into John's chamber with a pair of crutches in hand. "We are having a gathering," she said, "and you are the guest of honor."

"Caprica, if it will get me out of this bed, you can serve me up for dinner as the main course!" John swung his legs over the side of the bed, and gingerly put his feet on the floor. He looked at the Eight for reassurance.

She walked behind the bed, and returned a moment later with a pile of clothes. "We found these on your Raptor; are they suitable?"

He picked through the pile, and his mood brightened considerably. "No blood stains … no bullet holes … Eight, these will do nicely!"

"Do you want me to help you dress?"

"No, thanks … but maybe … later on," he suggested hopefully, "you could help me undress?"

"It will be my pleasure," she said with a sly smile. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Caprica waited until they were alone. "Are you going to frak her?"

"We're going to have a party of our own … a private make-out party. Are you jealous?"

"No, but the Cavils would be. They're obsessed with the Sharons. And you might want to remember that Eights are huntresses. Beneath that placid exterior a dangerous predator lies in wait."

"Are you implying that she's as dangerous as a Six? I find that rather hard to believe."

Caprica smiled, but chose to keep her own counsel.

When the Eight returned, she helped John to his feet. "I'm going to let go. See if you can stand on your own," she instructed, "but use the crutches to walk. Don't look off into the distance, and don't project. Remember, you are extremely vulnerable to vertigo. Find an object or a person in front of you, and focus. I won't let you fall, but you need to practice narrowing your field of vision. Bring the horizon in close, and keep it there. As long as your horizon is sharply defined, you'll do fine."

"Unfortunately, my dear, every corridor on a baseship looks just like every other corridor, and they all seem to go on forever."

"I know … I've taken steps to correct the problem. Don't worry; you'll do fine."

John slowly advanced to the entryway; there were two Simons out in the corridor, and he focused on them.

"Go to your right. There's a piece of black tape on the floor five meters ahead of you. Focus on the tape, and walk slowly towards it."

"Eight," John said with frank admiration, "you're incredible. Will you marry me?"

"Yes, but not right now. Are you putting any weight on your left leg?" The Eight had caught on to John's sense of humor.

"A little … and it feels good … gods, but it feels good. Simon, what's going on? It takes four to six weeks for a fractured femur to reach the point where it can bear weight, and the rehab can go on forever."

"You can thank Gina. Coating your fractures with the organic resin that we use to seal faults in the baseship's superstructure was her idea. The real problem was repairing the surrounding ligaments and muscles, which were shredded. Normally, a human physician would make good the damage with grafts from the same extremity, but in your case we didn't have enough material to work with, so we had to improvise. The Twos came up with an ingenious solution, and the result is that your left leg will now be significantly stronger than your right."

"Raise your head slowly, and look to your right." The Eight was standing behind John; if he was going to fall, this would be the place. "There's a second piece of tape on the wall another five meters down the corridor. Focus on it."

John did as she ordered, but his eyes drifted farther into the distance, looking for the next piece of tape and the one after it. The floor was abruptly transformed into a yawning pit, which was opening wide to swallow him.

"_Frak," _he cursed.

The Eight instantly reached out with both hands, got a firm grip, and held him upright. "Focus," she hissed. "Don't let your eyes wander; focus on the next piece of tape."

"Yes, ma'am; to hear is to obey." John tried to laugh it off, but he was suddenly scared. _You won't be able to move around without assistance._ Gina's words were echoing through his mind, and he was scared. He had long since come to terms with his own mortality, but the prospect of life as an invalid terrified him.

John hobbled slowly down the bright, intensely white and seemingly endless corridor, but he had learned his lesson, and there were no further incidents. Caprica directed him into a large chamber, which was dominated by a table that would easily seat twenty. Sitting down was awkward, but with the Eight's assistance, he managed it. Gina took the seat opposite him, with two of the Leobens on her immediate left and one of the Threes on her right. Seeing the Twos prompted John to return to his conversation with the Simons.

"So, how did the Twos solve the ligament problem?"

"Have you ever heard of an allograft procedure," one of the Simons asked in return.

John simply shook his head.

"The surgeon harvests the necessary material from a recently deceased cadaver."

"_What?"_

Simon gestured at the pair of Twos seated on Gina's left. "They agreed to be shot in the head, so that we could use their ligaments and muscles to replace your own. We didn't want to use an unborn husk because the muscles and ligaments wouldn't have been properly broken in."

"_Holy mother of Hera," _John exclaimed. He was slack-jawed with amazement. He looked at the two Leobens, trying to find something to say and failing.

"Thank you," he finally managed. "I know how inadequate that must sound, but … thank you."

"Think nothing of it," one of them offhandedly replied. "After what you did for our sister, it was the least that we could do in the circumstances."

More Cylons began to filter into the room; John recognized Cynthia and Boomer, and he was grateful to see that the other Eights who had been nursing him were also in attendance.

John turned to his left. He wondered if an already surreal day was about to become more so. "If we're about to eat dinner and the head chef turns out to be a centurion," he whispered into the Eight's ear, "I can deal with it. But if he starts carving up a roast right here at the table, I am going to start seriously questioning my sanity."

"If a centurion comes out wearing a chef's hat and a white apron," she whispered in return, "blame it on the Twos. Around here, we blame them for everything. Believe me, it's habit-forming."

John's hand slid under the table, and he began to knead the inside of the Eight's thigh. "Whatever we're having for dinner" he whispered again, "I know exactly what we're having for dessert."

"Yes," she murmured, "you are definitely going to be a fun date." She covered his hand with her own, and pressed down hard.

"Let's get started," one of the Simons said in his usual businesslike tone. He glanced meaningfully at D'Anna.

"Child, your Eight tells us that we are making you feel uncomfortable. Is this true?"

John considered ducking the question, answering with a polite lie—and decided to hell with it. "Yes, Aunt D'Anna, it is. So many of you have stood in the doorway and simply stared at me that I feel like a bug under a microscope. Are you all shy by nature? Why is it so hard for you to come in and say hello, maybe spend a minute or two talking about the weather … you know, exchange a few meaningless pleasantries?"

D'Anna looked blankly at her son. "I don't understand. There is no weather on a baseship."

The First Born audibly groaned. _Gods, give me strength!_ He sensed a headache in the making.

"You are a miracle to us," D'Anna continued, "a living miracle. God brought you to us on the very day that Caprica Six informed us of your existence. You were badly damaged, and it was clearly His intent that we should repair you and follow wherever you would lead us. We have tried to jump in the general direction of your fleet, but your … sister … is ignoring us. For the past fifteen days, this ship has not moved. We believe that the hybrids here and on the resurrection ship are waiting for you to give them instructions."

"I'll talk to this one. The fleet's not far away … three or four jumps at the most in that direction." John gestured vaguely to the left while pointing down.

"You can find the fleet without knowing where you are?" One of the Leobens was studying him intently.

"No; I misspoke. I know where Reun is; I'm just presuming that the fleet is gathered around her."

"And Reun would be … the hybrid on Natalie's baseship?" Leoben was guessing, but this was the only thing that made sense.

"Yes; the connection between us is very strong. The best way I can explain it is to say that a part of her mind resides within me, as a part of mine resides within her. Each of us is a beacon for the other. When I was unconscious, Reun would have felt cut off not only from me but from a part of herself. The sensation must have been very unsettling for her and quite confusing for Cassandra. Cassie is my sister on the resurrection ship; the link between us is only in its formative stage, but with the passage of time it will grow stronger."

John saw the confused and incredulous looks on their faces, and he laughed out loud. "Now you really are looking at me like a bug under a microscope," he chortled. "Look, you're a collective. So, one of you can project a forest or a stretch of beach, and the others can enter the projection and you can all stand around and talk with one another while you're inside it, right?"

"Yes," D'Anna admitted, "but you have just defined the limits of our ability."

"Really? You've never frakked inside one of your projections?"

"Yes" one of the Sixes admitted; "but it's still us doing the frakking."

"Which means that … um, how shall I put this … the … uh … Ones and Fives can't magically add an inch or two where it counts?"

"Don't I wish," one of the Eights commented rather tartly. This elicited a round of knowing grins from Sixes and Eights throughout the chamber.

"Ah … now I understand. Okay, fine … um … think of all hybrids as a collective, and extend the principle of projection to make it more creatively interactive. Before the First Cylon War, people used holobands to enter a holographic projection … I think they called it virtual reality … V world … something like that. I've never studied it, so I'm a little vague on the terminology. But they were really shifting dimensions, and by happenstance they caught on to the fact that the laws of physics that apply in this dimension are not relevant there. So, they could be as inventive as they wanted to be. This means that a person bound to a wheelchair in our world could enjoy full mobility in the holographic realm. A guy could add a couple of strategic inches here and a woman a cup size or two there, and all without benefit of plastic surgery. In the end, therefore, my only claim to originality is that, like my sisters, I can jump dimensions without the use of a holoband, which Eight reminds me is something that the Zoe Graystone avatar could also do. Beyond that, all I've done is conjure up a holographic Eden out of my memories of Galatea Bay on Aquaria. I've edited out the hotels and the hawker stalls, added a bit of this and that to turn it into my vision of a tropical paradise, and taught my sisters how to come and go as they please. I've given each of them legs and fully functioning sexual organs, which … uh … did turn out to have consequences."

John blushed deeply. "One of my … uh … sisters … uh … she's pregnant. I'm going to have a … um … virtual daughter. . . ."

John caught the look on Caprica Six's face.

"_Damn it, Caprica, stop looking at me that way!_ Anyway … um … uh … she's close enough to term that I really do need to learn how to deliver a baby. If there are any books on board, that would be great. Otherwise … Simon, do you think you could collate the necessary information from the stream and teach me what to do?"

A heavy silence enveloped the room.

"Major, you're amazing." Boomer had finally decided to speak up. "When it comes to surprises, we didn't think that anything could possibly top Four's description of the allograft procedure, but we were obviously wrong. In fact, we weren't even close. So, you and one of the hybrids- or at least your virtual incarnations- are going to have a little girl. Have you picked out a name for your virtual child?"

"Ariadne."

"And are you going to try and download Ariadne into a physical body in this world?"

"No … but I will do everything I can to make sure that Ariadne's world is a true paradise because she will be immortal."

"Won't she be lonely," Cynthia asked curiously.

"I don't think so, but we won't know for sure until Hera … Sharon's daughter … becomes old enough to start projecting. Even in the womb, she is already linked to Kara and Reun, so I'm betting that she will be able to cross dimensions just like any other hybrid. If I'm right, then Ariadne and Hera are going to grow up together, and when Hera grows old and eventually dies, the essence of her will live on forever in the adjoining dimension."

"Apotheosis," D'Anna murmured. She was in awe. "You are talking about apotheosis!"

"Do you mean apotheosis as in becoming God? No, I don't think so. I'm talking about everlasting life … the banishment of death. But that is not the limit of my ambitions. In a few months, Giana and Simon O'Neill are going to have a little boy. Perhaps their son and my daughter will grow up, fall in love, and have virtual children of their own. The universe cries out for life, but the dimension that abuts ours seems to be empty. I'm going to try and fill it. Your role in all of this should be pretty self-evident. For starters, you can cut out this crap about parents having to die so that their children will have the necessary space to spread their wings. From my point of view all of you have one job and one job only, and that's to find human partners and start having children. All … of … you."

John sighed in frustration. "I just wish that you hadn't been so incredibly stupid. Sharon Valerii didn't just go stumbling out into the forest one day, happen upon Karl Agathon, and decide on the spot to have a love child. If you suspected that you could have children with humans, why in the name of that One True God of yours didn't you run a large-scale breeding experiment _before _you went and slaughtered fifty billion human beings? Now, we're going to have so many Threes, Sixes, and Eights relative to the available supply of human males that our social arrangements are going to have to get pretty damned creative."

"There are still thousands of survivors in the Colonies," Caprica pointed out. "And we have room to spare on this ship. We should go back, and evacuate them."

"Give me an estimate," John fired back, "and tell me where."

"There are six to seven thousand people in the resistance on Caprica. There are more in the labor camps on Picon and in the northern reaches of Gemenon, but I have not searched the stream for hard data."

"There were about four thousand in the camps on Picon," an overseer Six noted, "but we cannot predict what we will find on Gemenon. The Twos, Threes, and Sixes refused to desecrate our holy places, so any human who reached the northern mountains will have found sanctuary."

"And the Blessed Mother will have welcomed them all with open arms," John quietly observed.

Another heavy silence descended upon the chamber.

"You have been to our sacred precincts?" D'Anna's voice was once again edged with surprise.

"Several times," he replied. A warm smile swept across John's features as the memories flitted through his consciousness. "I did not understand projection, and I had no ability to control it. When the behavioral psychologists in the CSS proved unable to help, I went to the Blessed Mother in the hope of finding answers. She was kind. She took me under her wing, and her insights and guidance probably saved my sanity. Galatea Bay is my creation, but it owes much to her inspiration. If she survived the holocaust, it will be good to see her again. I will talk to my sister in the morning. If she approves, we shall return to the Colonies."

"So," John said brightly, "what's for dinner?"

. . .

"Eight, I feel like I've walked halfway back to Kobol. Just where are you taking me?"

"We're going to the chamber that has been temporarily assigned to me. I am permanently attached to the resurrection ship, remember? What you would call 'guest quarters' are well removed from the central areas of this ship."

"Well, could we stop and rest for a moment? I'm tired." John leaned against the wall of whatever corridor they were currently traversing, and sat the crutches aside.

The Eight stood in front of him, and looked deep into his eyes. "Are you tired, or is it just your leg?"

"My leg," he responded; "the rest of me is wide awake." John reached out to grasp her by the shoulders, and then he pulled her in close. D'Anna's son had his mother's height. He was about four inches taller than the Eight, so he had to lean down to kiss her. He was tender, but she surprised him. She was eager for his kiss, and returned it tenfold.

The First Born swept her into his arms, and their kissing became steadily more passionate. Darting tongues entered willing mouths, and began the age-old process of exploration. John had never been with an Eight; indeed, he hadn't been with anyone save Deirdre since the last time that he had slept with Natasi, and that had been months before the holocaust. The Eight had an odd taste, one that he couldn't place—but she tasted good, and she smelled better. And then her tongue found the spot, and his entire body shivered with anticipation.

John broke off the kiss, and gently pushed the unresisting Eight away. She only needed to glance down once to see why.

"I haven't done this in over nine months," he confessed, "and I don't want to humiliate myself in the middle of this frakking corridor. Please, even if you have to lie, tell me that your room is just around the next corner!"

"It's not far," she promised, "and that's the truth."

John picked up his crutches, and resumed walking. _Just keep your head down,_ he kept telling himself; _don't look up, and you might actually get there without falling flat on your face!_

They arrived, and it was all he could do to keep from bursting out with laughter. _How many times have I seen this chamber? One oversized bed in a room big enough to sleep two Viper squadrons … and not a clothes hanger in sight._ Ghostrider and Apollo had once had a very serious conversation about where Cylons hung their clothes. It hadn't been obvious then, and it still wasn't obvious now.

The Eight was conservatively dressed in dark trousers and a powder blue blouse, with a demure off-white jacket that contrasted nicely with her eyes and hair. John took his time undoing the snaps and helping her out of the jacket, which gave him an opportunity to explore the nape of her neck with his tongue. She shivered with delight, and he moved on to nibble on her ear lobe while he reached around from behind and slowly unfastened the buttons on the front of her blouse. He slid it off her body, allowing the silken fabric to caress her skin. With a practiced twist, he unfastened her bra, and the Eight turned to face him as it fell away, her loveliness now on naked display. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, and leaned in to kiss her upraised lips. He held the kiss while his right hand drifted down to her breast, and he grazed her nipple with the barest touch of his open palm. A sharp intake of breath was his signal to move on; his lips and tongue explored her inviting neck even as his fingers unsnapped the one button that held her trousers in place. The Eight kicked off her shoes, and gracefully stepped out of her pants.

"_No panties?" _John was delighted as well as surprised. "Now who's the fun date," he murmured as he took her breast in his mouth. He teased her hardened nipple with the tip of his tongue while his fingers danced across her hips and thighs, his fingernails leaving a trail of goose bumps behind them.

Powerful currents were passing through the Eight's breasts, and her skin was on fire, but she paused nonetheless. She helped John take off his shirt, and then ordered him to sit on the bed while she knelt to remove his shoes and pants. His left leg was only inches away, and she winced involuntarily at the sight. Two long, livid red welts traced a course down his thigh. The stitching had dissolved, but the multi-hued bruising had yet to fade. When she looked up, her eyes gravitated to the fresh scars on his chest, where the Fours had gone in to repair his collapsed lung. She didn't even want to think about what lay in wait on his back. She had asked Caprica about the terrible scarring, but the Six had refused to share any of the details, telling her that for her own peace of mind it was simply best not to know. She had taken Caprica at her word, and never inquired again.

Tears came unbidden to her eyes as her fingers, equally unbidden, reached out to touch the fresh wounds on his leg. But John was quick, and his hand reached out to stop her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered … and she meant it. "You are the first of our children, and none of this should have happened. It's just not right …"

"But this is what brought us together," he softly interrupted, "and that is a good thing. Now, dry your eyes and come to bed. I want to make love with you, but you're the nurse, so I'm relying on you to keep me from breaking or tearing anything."

Her eyes still wet with tears, the Eight complied, only to have John kiss her tears away. They made love for hours, and it was as gentle and tender as it was sustained. In the morning, they made love again and yet again—and, when it happened, the Eight felt it instantly. She knew with absolute certainty that she was now pregnant, and that in little more than nine months she would be cradling John Bierns' daughter in her arms.


	31. Chapter 31: Backs Against the Wall

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MULTIPLE SCENES WITH GRAPHIC SEXUAL CONTENT**

CHAPTER 31

BACKS AGAINST THE WALL

"Helo, you look like crap." Apollo slowly and painfully slid into a chair on the opposite side of the table.

Karl Agathon raised his head and stared at his friend with bleary eyes. "Have you looked in the mirror lately?" But Helo was so tired that he couldn't keep his head up. "I need sleep," he said as he once more lowered his forehead onto the table. Crossed forearms, he had concluded, made for a wonderful pillow. "I got more rest when the centurions were chasing us across Caprica."

"Karl, do you think that the Cylons have a plan, and that maybe this is it?" Lee vaguely wondered whether he should be concerned that there were two Helos sitting across from him. These days, he was having a hard time focusing on anything. "Could they possibly be trying to frak us to death?"

"I don't know," Helo mumbled, "but if you've come here to offer me a suicide mission, I'll take it."

"In your dreams," Apollo managed. Simple, declarative sentences had also become something of a challenge.

Larissa Karanis breezed into the room and quickly took the measure of the two exhausted pilots. "Another rough night," she queried with feigned sympathy.

"We were just debating the pros and cons of suicide," Karl moaned. "Is it really a mortal sin?"

"Oh, come now, Helo," she scoffed; "surely it's not that bad?"

"Larissa, I feel like I'm hanging onto the side of a cliff by my fingernails."

"Karl, try and see the world from Sharon's perspective. She's about to enter the third trimester, and right now she's euphoric. She's past the morning sickness, she's come to terms with the back ache and leg cramps, and she's discovered that she won't break if she walks headfirst into a wall. Her hormones are firing on all cylinders, and her body feels alive in ways that are profoundly exciting, both physically and emotionally. She loves you, and she's expressing her feelings for you and the baby through her sexuality. You just need to be patient, and you should try and enjoy these moments while you can. If her pregnancy follows the usual trajectory, the euphoria won't last."

"The normal human trajectory, you mean? Larissa, do I have to remind you that Sharon's a Cylon?"

"Well, there is that," the nurse conceded. "The cylon female doesn't seem to do anything by half measures. Doctor Cottle has been tracking Sharon and Creusa's hormonal activity, and both are so far beyond human norms that comparisons are pretty much worthless. But I do wish to stress that what you two are dealing with is normal behavior; you are just getting it in an aggravated form. Trust me, Helo, somewhere in the next three to six weeks Sharon will start to find you far less appealing."

"Three to six _weeks_? I may not last three to six _days_!"

"And what about you, Captain?" Larissa decided to ignore Helo. "Do you have anything new to report, or is it just more of the same?"

"Well, let's see. Last night, Creusa stopped just short of ripping my clothes off. Afterwards, she threw me out of bed and told me that she never wanted to see me again. I must have covered forty decks before I found a place to sleep. This morning, she demanded to know where I'd been, and accused me of being heartless and cruel because I went off and left her alone. She's somehow convinced herself that I'm sleeping with half the Sixes on this ship, but that didn't stop her from …" Lee just shook his head.

"Go on, Captain."

"Larissa, let's just say that at this point I've got bruises on top of bruises. I swear, Sixes should come with a warning label."

"I remember that phase," Helo said fondly. "Sharon was so jealous of the other Eights that she couldn't get me back to _Galactica_ fast enough. Save your strength, Apollo; believe me … you're going to need it."

"Perhaps the two of you should talk to Stallion," Larissa suggested.

"Stallion? He's an idiot. Can you believe that the fool is actually sleeping with _two_ Sixes?"

"Yes, Captain … and he may be able to give you some pointers. The three of them actually seem to have a very well grounded relationship."

Apollo looked warily at Larissa Karanis. There was something in the way that she had phrased that last remark that made him look up to see if the ceiling was about to come crashing down.

"Gentlemen, do the math. We lost almost four thousand people in the riots, and on the same day we picked up another three thousand Cylon females, at least two thousand of whom do not want to be late for the party. I'm told that the Cylons had to box something on the order of six hundred thousand Threes, Sixes, and Eights on the resurrection hub because they lost over ninety percent of their fleet on the day of the attacks. What do you think is going to happen when we get around to capturing the hub, and start reactivating them?"

"You can't be serious," Helo protested. Suicide was looking like a better option all the time.

"Surely you don't expect them to fight for us without … inducements?" There was a disgusted look on Larissa's face. The two officers clearly hadn't given much thought to the future.

"Harems may make for wonderful fantasies," she went on, "but the reality is likely to be rather tiring. So, I recommend that the two of you stop whining. Eat your primaries and get some exercise. Sleep whenever the opportunity presents itself, and work on your stamina. Sooner or later, as you so rightly observed, Helo—you're going to need it."

Helo and Apollo looked at one another in disbelief. They both had pretty much the same thought.

_Sharon's gonna kill me._

_Creusa's gonna kill me._

"Have you … uh … um … by any chance … uh … already talked with Creusa about … uh … about any of this?"

"No," Larissa patiently answered, "but you might want to keep in mind that the Cylons are better at math than we are. The topic is bound to come up, probably sooner rather than later."

The two pilots stared at one another.

"We need a plan," Apollo said rather desperately, "and I don't mean for leading an expedition back to the Colonies." Lee's father had given Helo, Apollo and Sonja the rather delicate assignment of finding a way to approach colonial survivors that didn't end in a potentially deadly misunderstanding. They could all see the need for finesse, but pilots who were so tired that they could barely figure out how to put their pants on in the morning simply weren't up for the exercise.

"No," Helo countered; "what we need is an escape route."

"_We need to talk to Shelly," _the two of them simultaneously exclaimed.

. . .

"Doctor, I am well aware of Admiral Cain's plans for the Kobol expedition, and I have thought about the specifics of your proposal. But I am not going to give you the whole of our tylium supply and leave _Pegasus _defenseless. You can have four Raptors—one for supplies and three for crew. We'll scale back your original design to nine men and thirty women, all of childbearing age."

"With all due respect, Commander, it's not that simple. Whether we send forty people or four hundred, we cannot lift the necessary supplies with less than two Raptors. And if we compensate by reducing the human component to six males and twenty females, we will not have a viable genetic pool. Even with fifty-two people, our population will be genetically at risk."

"Doctor, you seem to have lost sight of the fact that your expedition is only the vanguard. _Pegasus_ will enrich and stabilize the genetic pool when she arrives. Her crew will doubtless number in the thousands because, as you keep reminding me, we can grow enough food en route to sustain a much larger population. I have no intention of replacing the anti-fertility drugs when they run out. _Pegasus_ will become a true multi-generational ship."

Baltar shook his head in frustration. Kendra Shaw seemed incapable of comprehending the most obvious of realities. He decided to try approaching her from a different direction.

"Commander, seventeen generations is a long time, and we cannot possibly anticipate and plan for all of the things that could go wrong. Need I remind you that the Cylons are still out there? Do you think that keeping a small store of tylium in reserve will do anything to save this ship if they come at you in force? You would be better advised to rig a nuclear device here in the CIC, and trigger it if you're boarded. At least that way you would be able to take a few of the bastards with you."

"Thank you for your input, Doctor … I'll give some thought to your suggestion."

"Let's be clear about this, Commander. In my judgment, it's six Raptors or nothing. There is no point in sending an expedition to Kobol unless it has a reasonable chance of surviving long enough to propagate a genetically healthy species. If we do it your way and the Cylons do catch up with _Pegasus_, then the human race as we know it will become extinct."

"Modify your plan, Doctor." Shaw was glaring at the scientist, and becoming visibly angry. "Consider that an order."

. . .

Sickbay was reasonably quiet at the moment, and it did not take Sherman Cottle long to complete his last rounds of the day. Knowing that his staff had everything under control, the doctor could finally relax and indulge in one of his most treasured rituals. There was one particular spot from which he could survey most of his dominion, and he liked to stand there at the end of the day, smoking a cigarette while he mentally composed the daily log entry that he would write down when he retired to the office that doubled as his personal quarters.

While he smoked, Sherman studied one of the few visitors in his line of sight. She came every day at the end of her own very busy work shift, and she sat and talked with his patients, making a round that very much paralleled his own. The woman was taking up more and more of his thoughts, and more and more of his log entries because she had an extraordinary gift. D'Anna Biers was, quite simply, the finest natural caregiver that he had ever encountered, and his was a medical career that spanned decades. She calmed people who were often poised on the brink of hysteria. She alleviated their fears. But the greatest of all her gifts was her ability to get people to confide in her. Doc Cottle would have cheerfully sworn on a stack of scriptures that D'Anna knew more about his patients than he did. She was particularly good with the terminally ill, almost all of whom were dying of cancers that had been triggered by exposure to the radioactive fallout from Cylon bombs. He was mystified that people who should have hated the very sight of the Cylon woman in fact welcomed her presence.

Cottle was still contemplating the mystery that was D'Anna Biers when the Cylon suddenly stood up and walked over to speak with him.

"Doctor, Mr. McNally's condition is worsening by the hour. Isn't there something you can do to relieve the pain?"

"No, there isn't," Cottle gruffly replied, "at least not without putting him under, and he has specifically requested that we not do that. He appears to believe that your company is worth any amount of suffering that he has to endure."

"Do you always comply with your patient's wishes, even when it causes them avoidable pain?" D'Anna was interested in Cottle's reasoning.

"No, a doctor has to exercise his or her judgment. No one treating a patient for pneumonia would agree with a request to cut off a healthy limb. But when it comes to pain management, there are no hard and fast rules. If a patient doesn't want to be sedated, I try to respect their wishes. D'Anna, it may not make much sense to you because resurrection technology allows you to avoid pain altogether, but a lot of my patients want to squeeze every last second out of life that they can. Sedating them doesn't just make the pain go away; it robs them of those last few seconds."

Cottle took a deep drag on his cigarette, but considerately turned away before exhaling.

"Why do you smoke?" D'Anna was openly curious.

"Could it be … because I enjoy it?"

"But, it's bad for your health."

"Somehow," he snorted, "I don't think it's the nicotine that's gonna kill me."

"Because there's a Cylon Raider out there someplace with a missile that has your name on it?"

"Yeah … something like that."

"And if you're wrong?"

Cottle studied the Cylon through narrowed eyes. "D'Anna, I don't think that my soul needs saving … at least, not yet. I appreciate the way in which you comfort our patients- you've made my job a lot easier over the past few months- but I'd also appreciate it if you would leave me to enjoy my one vice in peace."

"Major Cottle, it's not the state of your soul that concerns me … it's the well-being of this fleet. I just wish that you weren't so selfish."

"What? Young lady, what are you talking about?"

"You spend too much time smoking and not nearly enough time teaching. You are the most accomplished surgeon in the fleet, but you are not passing your skills on to others. Why are you not training nurse Ishay to be your eventual replacement? Why aren't you systematically sharing your knowledge with the Fours? And why aren't you leading by example? If you would give up your precious cigarettes, people might take your professional advice more seriously."

"Oh, gods," Cottle sighed, "you're just like every other woman I've met."

"I don't understand."

"Do you know how many times I've heard this particular lecture from Ishay? What is it about women? Why does every single one of you … human, Cylon, it doesn't matter … why does every single one of you make it your life's mission to change us? Why can't you just accept us as we are instead of trying to improve the product?"

"Isn't it obvious? You need our help … all of you. Admiral Adama's answer to a minor disagreement about policy is to arrest the president, pitching all of us into a mess that Shelly had to straighten out. How typical. It seems to be a basic law of nature: men make a mess of the universe, and women have to clean it up. Just look at the Twos and the Fives. We leave them alone … and look at the results. I ask you … would you permit your children to dress that way?"

"You have a point," Cottle conceded.

"You're a good man, Sherman Cottle. Beneath all the bluster, there resides a truly dedicated healer. But there is room for improvement, and nurse Ishay and I will continue in our attempts to reform you. If you don't want us to badger you, take away our excuses."

D'Anna suddenly reached out and snatched the cigarette from Cottle's fingers. She threw it on the floor, and snuffed it out under her shoe. "It's a disgusting habit," she said as she started to walk away.

Cottle waited until she was gone before pulling out another smoke and lighting up. _From here on out, _he sighed,_ I'll have to put up with not one but two nags … _and then the major had a truly nightmarish thought. _Dear gods, that woman has a couple of thousand sisters in the fleet. What if they all decide to have a go at reforming me?_

. . .

"_No frakking way!"_

"But Louanne, it's not as if we're asking you to marry us. It's a simple invitation to dinner. You have to eat, so why don't you come and sit with us? It will allow us to become better acquainted."

"Leoben, I don't want to become better acquainted. I want to become better _unacquainted_. It's bad enough that I have to work with a Two; sharing a table with three of you would ruin my appetite!"

"Louanne, if there is something about us that offends you, please, tell us. We're not like humans; we're not afraid of change."

"All right, fine; you want it? Well, here it is. First, you can do every woman on this ship a favor by scouring the fleet and looking for some real clothes. You're the sorriest collection of eyesores that I've ever seen, and your sisters are no happier with your appearance than I am. Stop wearing rags!"

"But God directs us to be humble; He asks us to value the valueless."

"Well, the Sixes certainly aren't getting the message, so maybe you've misunderstood what that precious God of yours wants from you. In any event, I'm just getting started. Brush your teeth, bathe more regularly, find a barber, and go get a haircut! Every time I look at the top of your head, I get this irresistible urge to start scrubbing out dirty pots and pans. I'd call you a mangy cur, but I don't want to upset Jake."

"Jake? Who's Jake?"

A dog … the only dog in the fleet, and therefore quite possibly the last dog left in the universe. Jake doesn't look like much, but he looks a damned sight better than you!"

Leoben looked steadily at Kat, the wheels obviously turning inside his brain. "If we do all these things, then will you have dinner with us?"

"I'll think about it."

Leoben walked wordlessly away, which was Kat's cue to go storming off to Kara Thrace's makeshift office. She found her superior where she always found her these days … behind a desk, working her way through a mountain of paperwork. Stallion was at his own desk, similarly sorting through the thousands of questionnaires. Roslin had decided to impress the civvies, but she also wanted to make sure that they would be hijacking people who actually had usable skills.

"Sir," Kat said, "request permission to round up the Twos and flush them out the nearest available airlock."

"Request denied, Captain." Kara didn't even bother to look up from her paperwork.

"Then I request demotion and a return to ordinary flight status on the _Galactica_."

"I'll think about it, Kat." Kara finished the questionnaire in front of her, and tossed it onto a growing pile on the left side of her desk. She picked up a fresh questionnaire. "I've thought about it. Request denied."

"Sir, I'm here to turn myself in. My name is not really Louanne Katraine. I stole it from a girl who died a couple of days before the holocaust so that I could use fake ID to get into the military. My real name is Sasha, and I'm the long lost granddaughter of Fidelia Fazekas, the Ha`la`tha crime lord. Before the attacks, I was a smuggler. I ran guns, dope, people, bootlegged cigarettes, ambrosia … you name it … anything that would turn a profit. We were smuggling stuff into the Colonies from the armistice zone, so I probably brought in half the Cylon infiltrators. I'm a bad person, Colonel. I'm not fit to wear the uniform. So, drum me out of the service and send me packing back to freighter 212, sir!"

Kara finally looked up from the avalanche of paper that surrounded her. "Katraine, is any of that crap you just fed me actually true?"

"Almost all of it, sir."

"Fine, I'll pass it along to the admiral, along with my recommendation that you be promoted to the rank of major."

"_What?_ Sir, didn't you hear what I just told you? I'm a traitor, Colonel; you should be flushing me out the nearest airlock!"

"Kat, quit brown nosing and get with the program. These days, when we find people with that kind of background, people who show that kind of initiative … we promote them to positions of higher responsibility. Haven't you noticed that a Six who used to be a hooker on Picon was first put in charge of the black market and is now pretty much responsible for the day to day running of the fleet's economy? The pretty boys and girls on _Colonial One_ don't know frak about the real world. This fleet needs talented prostitutes and smugglers a lot more than it does a Quorum filled with brainless twits."

"But, sir …"

"Don't 'sir' me, Katraine." Kara sighed deeply. "Sit down, Kat. Stallion, please give us the room."

Hephaestus picked up his crutches and hobbled out into the corridor. He had a pretty good idea what the two female pilots we're going to be talking about, and he didn't want any part of the conversation. He decided to wander down to one of the landing bays. Maintenance on the Heavy Raiders was never ending, and Stallion enjoyed working on the behemoths alongside his two Cylon girlfriends.

"Kat, have you ever considered a change of tactics?"

"I don't follow you, Colonel."

"Leoben wants to sleep with you, right? So let him. Just lay there and act bored. Buff your nails … yawn in his face … here." Kara opened a drawer and pulled out an old copy of _Caprican Life_. "Take this to bed with you, and flick through it while he's frakking you. Humiliate him. Tell him that his dick is so pathetically small that you can barely feel it. Mock him. When he kisses you, make a face and tell him to quit slobbering. When he tries to fondle you, tell him that a woman likes to be caressed, not pawed. Make it clear to the frakker that he doesn't know what he's doing, and couldn't please a woman if his life depended on it. And when he's done, make your way around the ship and publicly humiliate him. You should enjoy that. Tell the Cylons that he's got less technique than some twelve year old kid who's just discovered that the penis has more than one use. He's a man, Kat … whatever else Leoben Conoy is … he's a man. Rub their noses in it, and the Twos will turn their attention elsewhere."

Kat picked up the magazine and started idly turning the pages while she thought about it. _It might be worth a try, _she concluded; _anything that will get those frakkers out of my hair might be worth a try._

"I'll need a bottle of whiskey, sir … a really full bottle. I'll have to get seriously drunk before I let one of those bastards near me."

Kara opened another drawer, and pulled out a virgin bottle. "With my compliments, Katraine—but you'll have to find your own chaser."

. . .

John Bierns rolled carefully onto his left side, and gently stroked the Eight's cheek. She was sleeping peacefully, and he both did and did not want to disturb her. When she was at rest, there was an innocence surrounding the Cylon that powerfully reminded him of a small child. And that was odd, he thought, because the Eight was no longer an innocent. Once John had overcome his fear of reinjuring himself, he had taught her a great deal in a very short period of time. His nurse had proven an adept and enthusiastic pupil, and their lovemaking had taken on both depth and nuance. He had fallen for her hard, but in a distant corner of his mind he kept hearing a mocking voice, and it was laughing richly at his expense. _How many times,_ it kept teasing him, _has the injured war hero fallen in love with the angel who tends to his every need and so patiently nurses him back to health? _John was quite prepared to concede the point, but in return he insisted upon scoring one of his own. _Well, at least we're making history here. I am, after all, the first human or hybrid to fall for a Cylon nurse._

The Eight's eyelids began to flutter, and John knew that his movements had awakened her. "I love to watch you when you're asleep," he whispered as he continued to stroke her cheek. "You sleep so peacefully that I envy you your dreams."

The Eight came fully awake, and stared up into John's eyes. At first, they had frightened her. His eyes were so exotic, so different from anything else that she had ever seen. They had left her convinced that in this one place the fusion of man and machine had failed. She had often wondered- and in the stream she could see that she was not the only one with such questions- whether the genetic tampering was responsible. Was it hybrid and centurion DNA that had given him this one distinctively alien feature?

But the Eight was no longer frightened because, at Caprica's urging, their child had agreed to enter the stream—and he was far too unpracticed to hide the essence of himself from those who wished to understand him. There were things that he refused to share- powerful blocks at work inside his mind that not even the Twos could penetrate- but ultimately none of this mattered. John filled the stream with guilt and pain born of all that he had suffered, but also with an abiding hatred for the Ones that floated on the surface of bottomless pools of anger. His near boundless capacity for violence stemmed from this source, but the Cylons could see that violence nevertheless did not define him. It was a tool that gave teeth to an unflinching determination to protect all that he loved, but in the final analysis it was only a tool. In the stream, it was easy to understand why he had never once considered leaving Gina Inviere behind.

The Eight stared into those curiously mottled eyes, and now saw the gentleness that lay behind them. She felt it in the lightness of his touch, and it warmed her being. She rolled on top of him, stretched out, and offered him a long, lingering kiss. She felt his arms wrap around her back to hold her tight, and she almost purred when he began to massage the muscles in the higher reaches of her spine. She opened her mouth willingly, inviting his tongue to enter and explore even as his hands dropped down to knead her buttocks. She spread her legs, and his fingers disappeared into her cleft, reaching … probing.

Suddenly, John rolled her over, their mouths never breaking the kiss. Now his fingers explored with greater purpose, found her clitoris, and began a slow circling motion … one that seemed to touch with the lightness of a feather. She could feel her body start to respond, the heat suffusing her.

His fingers continued to explore, encouraging her lubrication, and when she was ready they entered her, first one and then two. He knew exactly where to go, exactly how much pressure to apply, exactly what rhythm to maintain. The Eight's hips soon began to gyrate with a will of their own, finding and adhering to the tempo dictated by questing fingers that dipped in and out, sometimes grazing her clitoris and sometimes not.

She was moaning now, which he took as the signal to abandon her mouth and move on to her breasts. A flick or two of his tongue was all it took for her nipples to harden, first one and then the other. His lips, his fingers and her hips moved as one, his teeth gently nibbling on her areola even as his fingertip grazed her nub.

The Eight's body began to spasm with pleasure … she was close to the point of release. But she wanted him inside her. Reaching out, finding him ready, she guided him in while her eyes searched his for signs of pain. She was ever mindful that he was still recovering from a badly broken leg. But the dark shadows for which she was always alert never appeared, and so she abandoned herself to pleasure.

John knew that she was close, knew that a few strokes … knew that one more questing finger … would take her over the top. He slowed down to pull her back from the edge of the precipice, pulled away so that his mouth could return once again to his systematic, ever more frenzied exploration of her breasts. In his mind he could see the electrical currents that arced across her belly, the spreading fire between her legs. Shallow, more rapid breathing cued him to the heat that was now enveloping her. The Eight arched her back, her hips setting out in pursuit of his retreating organ. He waited until she was as taut as a bowstring, and then without warning he plunged deep inside, quickening his pace, everything suddenly more violent.

The Eight, eyes wide and wild with desire, reached up to grip him hard by the shoulders. _Deeper_, her mind was screaming; _harder … faster … yes … yes … yes!_

She screamed, only it was no longer in her mind, and she couldn't stop. His screams mingled with her own as he called out to God over and over again. She felt her lover tense, felt his body shudder as the moment of release overcame him, felt his climax fuse with her own.

John eventually rolled them onto their sides, still inside her, trying to shatter the barrier that forever prevented two souls from merging into one. Gently, he pulled her close, so that her cheek would rest upon his shoulder. He began running his fingers through her hair—long, loving strokes that made her scalp tingle with a new kind of need. She wanted to suspend time, wanted to cling to this moment … this feeling … forever. _This is love,_ she thought, _this is perfection._ Her hand drifted to rest upon her belly. _This is life._

"The others are waiting," she finally spoke with regret, not wanting the moment to end but knowing that it must. The baseship was orbiting high above Picon, the resurrection ship only a few kilometers distant. John had made the slow, hobbled journey to both chambers, had united in that mysterious way of his with Olivia and Circe, his two hybrid sisters. Cassandra and Circe … the Eight found it disquieting that the hybrids on two of their resurrection ships had taken such ill-omened names, but neither she nor any other Cylon had the means to ask them why. The hybrids continued to speak, but the Cylon audience found their riddles as indecipherable as ever. If John found meaning in their words, he found it only inside a world born of projection to which the Cylons were denied access.

And therein lay the heart of a doctrinal controversy that was now sweeping the baseship. Galatea Bay, the Threes kept insisting, was the heaven promised to them so long ago by the founders of their faith. Why, then, the Fours demanded, were the children of the One True God denied entrance? Resurrection, the Threes swiftly and vehemently countered, sheltered the cylon from death, and prevented their souls from reaching God. But the bodies of the hybrids were mortal, all of them, hence God had tasked one of his angels to fashion the Eden in which the immortal souls of his most devout servants would know the joys of life everlasting. Had the Cylons not absorbed the words of the Deliverer? Did they yet fail to understand that the downloading process was not a blessing but a curse?

Once the Threes had begun openly to renounce resurrection, the Twos had rallied en masse to their cause. The Fours had remained steadfastly opposed to these radical views, and the Sixes and Eights found themselves caught somewhere in the middle. Caprica had then added more fuel to the already raging fire by pointing out the incompatibility of resurrection and reproduction. Did anyone seriously propose that they should remain forever young while their children grew old and eventually died? At this point the Sixes had quickly divided into three unequal camps. One group defended downloading even at the cost of remaining childless. A second supported Caprica's point of view, accepting the fundamental premise that having children carried with it a commitment to mortality. But, much to Caprica's dismay, there also emerged a cohort of Sixes who wished to preserve resurrection technology so that the cylon would always be able to introduce more hybrid children into the universe. They cleverly defended resurrection not as a privilege but as a burden and a responsibility.

It was typical of the Eights that they had adopted a more pragmatic stance. Why, they asked, are we arguing about these questions in the abstract? Did it not make more sense to have children first, and then to engage in such grand debates?

As the lone Raptor broke orbit and headed down to the largest of Picon's labor camps, the Eight who sat at John Bierns' side already knew the answer to all these questions. She could not conceive of a circumstance in which she would knowingly choose to outlive her child.

. . .

"Does this meet with your approval?"

Kat looked up to see Leoben standing in the doorway of her chamber. She was half-lying, half-sitting on the ridiculously oversized bed that dominated her quarters. She had scrounged half the fleet in search of additional furnishings, and had so far managed to come up with a nightstand and a couple of chairs.

The fleet's newest CAG had been more or less randomly working her way through the issue of _Caprican Life_, but she had also been working her way steadily through the bottle of whiskey, and there had been nothing random about that pursuit at all. She glanced to her left, and guessed that she had already consumed about two-thirds of the precious liquor—all in preparation for this moment. She knew that she was drunk; ah, but the 64,000 cubit question remained—was she drunk enough?

Kat climbed off the bed, picked up the partially filled glass of whiskey, and started sipping as she walked rather unsteadily toward the entryway. She looked down. Leoben was wearing comfortable loafers, a pair of light tan, neatly pressed slacks, and a short-sleeved maroon polo shirt.

She twirled her index finger, silently bidding him to turn around. The Two complied, and Louanne Katraine instantly came to the conclusion that, in one rather vital area, she had completely misjudged Leoben Conoy. The Cylon appeared to have a really nice ass, beautifully tight in all the right places.

She patted him lightly on the butt, and then stood on her tiptoes so that she could sniff behind one of his ears.

"Why, Leoben," she teased, "you not only shaved, you actually went to the trouble of going out and finding some aftershave. Well done!" She stuck out her tongue, and licked that one place behind the ear where men and women universally liked to apply a daub of their favorite fragrance.

Leoben whirled around, tore the glass from her hand and sent it flying across the room. He slammed Louanne violently against the wall, pinned her arms high over her head, and leaned in savagely to kiss her. There was nothing gentle about the kiss, nothing tender. He had been dreaming of this moment for a long time, and pent-up frustration was getting the better of him. The smart-alecky human's mouth was the anvil, and his was the hammer.

_Holy mother of the gods,_ Kat's mind shrieked, _he's going to suffocate me!_ She worked her right hand free and tried to push him away, but she would have had better luck trying to dislodge a twenty story building. She groped, found his testicles, and began squeezing—just enough to get his attention. Finally, she managed to turn her head to the side, which allowed her to resume breathing.

"Leoben, gods damn it, quit slobbering all over me! Don't you know anything?" He was working on her left cheek now, and then his tongue found its way into her ear. "That's better," she quietly moaned; "much better. Poor baby, it looks like mama's gonna have to teach you everything."

Louanne reached back down between their bodies, just to see how things were developing—only to get another, much more powerful surprise. She had overheard enough Eights complaining about undersized equipment on the Ones and the Fives that she had drawn certain conclusions about the Twos. None of the Cylon females allowed the Twos to get anywhere near them, so Louanne had jumped automatically to the conclusion that their creators must have cursed this model with still more inadequate equipment. But, as she had just discovered, nothing could be further from the truth. Leoben was already hard as a rock—and she was holding one hell of a lot of rock in her hand. Realizing that the Cylon could literally skewer her, Kat began to sober up in near record time.

Leoben had lowered his head and started to explore her neck, and it quickly became apparent that he was going to leave more love bites behind than Kat's arch nemesis Enzo Carlotti, the frakkin' supplier whose ego had driven him to leave his mark on every women he had ever touched. But Leoben's problem, Kat decided, wasn't ego … it was ignorance. For the first time, she began seriously to consider the possibility that the Two might be a virgin.

She turned her head to whisper in his ear. "Leoben, for the love of the gods: come up for air! Haven't you ever done this before? I bruise easily, but you're behaving like some fourteen year old kid who's got six mouths and eighteen pairs of hands. _Slow down!_"

Kat reached up, somehow got a grasp on his chin, and turned his head so that he would actually look at her. "I don't mind having you pin my back to the wall … really … it's kind of nice … but I don't have any fantasies about being raped. So, let me go, slow it way down, and show me that you're capable of being gentle."

Louanne decided to take the initiative. She leaned forward and kissed Leoben tenderly, hoping that the Cylon would prove a quick learner. She wanted to move things along, but very much on her own terms.

When he let go of her arm and began to kiss her tenderly in return, Kat dropped her hands and began to pull at his shirt. Leoben got the message, and stepped away just long enough to whip it over his head and toss it aside. Louanne took advantage of the opportunity to remove her tank top, leaving her breasts fully exposed. Leoben took one look, and his eyes all but jumped out of his head.

"Shoes and pants next," Kat ordered; she unbuckled her own trousers, and allowed them to slide down and pool around her ankles. She wasn't wearing any underwear.

"Now pick me up and carry me over to the bed," she added once Leoben was fully nude. "But be considerate, and help me take off my pants."

The Two rushed to obey, leaving Louanne Katraine with the rather heady conviction that, if she chose to order him to get down on all fours and bark like a dog, he'd do it. On the spur of the moment, she decided to test her theory. She reached above her head, grabbed a pillow, and slid it under her hips. "Now," she said rather sternly, "I'm going to teach you a few things about the female anatomy. I expect you to pay attention because there's gonna be a test later," she giggled.

"Get your head down there, close your eyes, and use your tongue to start exploring," she commanded. "I'll let you know when you find the right spots, and I'll _really_ let you know if you get it wrong."

"Ah," Louanne said with a contented sigh, "that would be my clitoris. Unmistakable, isn't it? Right now, it's not particularly sensitive, so this will be good training for you. It likes to be teased … not poked … not prodded. There will be times when it's so engorged that one touch and I will explode … literally, I will just go _boom_ all over this room. But not tonight; tonight, little one, just take your time. A swirl here and a twirl there … yes, that's it … _very good_. Hmm … I like that … I like that a lot. Now don't forget that I have a couple of other orifices down there, and they want to become well acquainted with your tongue as well. So just keep exploring, and I'll let you know when you're there." Kat crossed her legs behind Leoben's back, and applied just enough pressure to keep his mind from wandering.

Louanne picked up the copy of _Caprican Life_, and began turning the pages. There were no doors on Cylon baseships, and so she knew that it was just a matter of time.

Kat continued to encourage Leoben, and she wasn't faking it when she started to moan. For a novice, the big lug really was showing potential.

"Yes," she said; "that's nice. Hmm …"

She noticed a pair of Sixes standing in the entryway, which induced her to hold up the magazine and rather ostentatiously flip the page. Then she waved at the two blonds, who smirked knowingly, and hurried off down the corridor. _Thirty minutes,_ Kat judged;_ this will be all over the ship in thirty minutes, and all over the fleet inside three hours. _She reckoned that, from this point on, she would own the frakking Twos—not just this particular copy but the whole damned model.

A few minutes later, she decided that it was time to give him his reward. "All right," she sighed with the resignation of the truly bored, "enough of that. Now, let's see if you know what a woman's breasts are for, and if you know anything … anything at all … about making love."

Leoben silently reared up above her, and she took him by the hand and guided him inside. "I don't expect you to be any good at this," she mocked, "and you'll probably set a new world's record for the quickest cum ever, but try your best. I don't really expect you to give me an orgasm, but let's see if you can hold out for more than thirty seconds." She patted him gently on the cheek with one hand while setting her magazine down on the bed with the other.

She was right. Louanne would never have characterized Leoben as sloppy … he didn't have enough technique even to qualify for that … _but,_ she conceded, _he's certainly vigorous, and there really is a lot of him_. _And he's so eager to please … I'll have to give some serious thought to training him to service me._

Kat estimated that it took Leoben Conoy about a minute and twenty seconds to cum. He was far too quick to finish her off, and he really didn't seem to know what he was doing, but his climax was truly thunderous in its proportions. _All in all, _she concluded, _not bad for a beginner._

. . .

"Do you notice anything different," Sibyl asked.

Lydia looked around their quarters, frowning slightly. Then she noticed the object sitting off in the corner. It hadn't been there in the morning, and she couldn't see anything else in the room that appeared to be out of place.

"Do you mean that clothes rack?" The Six pointed at the odd piece of furniture. It consisted of two stout poles rising from a very sturdy foundation, with a pair of long, clearly adjustable cross beams tying the poles together.

Sibyl roared with laughter as she began to disrobe. "Take off your clothes, my love," she gleefully ordered. "Have I got a surprise in store for you!"

Her curiosity fully aroused, Lydia hastened to obey. Lydia and Sibyl were no longer newlyweds, but Captain Sibyl Janks had a vividly erotic imagination, and she delighted in introducing her Cylon wife to techniques and gadgets that kept their lovemaking fresh, playful, and satisfying.

The two kissed and fondled one another lovingly, each knowing the secret places that gave her partner the greatest pleasure. When they were both aroused, Sibyl led Lydia over to the strange device. "Hop on," she ordered.

Lydia gave her a strange look, thought about the odd shaped contraption for a moment, and then a wonderful smile crossed her face. "Oh, my," she whispered huskily as she climbed aboard. She rested her chin on the upper beam, and dangled her knees across the lower. She didn't wait for Sibyl to order her to spread her legs wide; the weight of her torso caused Lydia's shapely buttocks and genitalia to sag well below the beam.

Sibyl took out two pairs of handcuffs, and used them to secure Lydia's widely stretched arms to both beam and pole. Then she raised the upper beam just enough to interfere with her wife's line of sight. She wanted to keep Lydia guessing as to what would happen next.

"Hold on tight," Sibyl maliciously instructed; "not that you really have any choice in the matter!"

Sibyl opened a chest drawer, and pulled out a very special bottle of oil … one which simultaneously heated and soothed. She poured a generous helping of the oil into her palm, and began her ministrations with Lydia's right foot. She massaged the oil in, and then began working her way up the Cylon's exposed calf. Lydia's left leg ached for and received equal treatment before Sibyl began to concentrate on her thighs. Her long fingers kneaded the exposed flesh, gradually working their way deeper and deeper into the cleft between Lydia's buttocks. When Sibyl looked up, she could see that her wife's eyes were firmly shut; Lydia had surrendered completely, had shut out the universe; she wanted to experience nothing beyond the knowing touch of those highly skilled fingers.

Sibyl lathered Lydia's clitoris, her vagina, and her anus with the lotion, and then penetrated her. Her fingers plunged back and forth, deep inside, even as her thumb performed its own magic. Lydia's torso began to rise and fall in tune with her rhythm, inspiring Sibyl to slap her hard on one of her exposed buttocks.

"Stop that! You're not supposed to move!"

"I can't help it," Lydia moaned; "you're incredible."

"Oh, we're just getting started," Sibyl warned. She paused, withdrew her fingers, and raised her head so that she could look Lydia in the eye. "Do you like," she inquired.

"I like," the Cylon moaned; _"I like …"_

Without breaking eye contact, Sibyl poured more of the balm into her hand, and as she pressed her tongue deep into Lydia's inviting mouth, she simultaneously began to knead the oil into her breasts. Lydia's moans suddenly became much, much deeper in tone, rising unbidden from someplace in the bottommost recesses of her throat.

In time, Sibyl moved on, took one of Lydia's full breasts in her mouth. She began to suckle ever more insistently while her fingers resumed their skilled exploration of the spaces between the Six's widely splayed legs. Lydia was bucking furiously now, her breasts so completely on fire that she thought her whole body might combust.

Sibyl stopped again, walked behind her wife, and opened a drawer. Lydia knew what was about to happen next; the mere anticipation of it was starting to make her cum. She was so wet that she wondered if her juices were actually dripping onto the floor.

Sibyl strapped on the dildo. It was already heavily oiled, and she slipped it slowly but deeply within. She reached out, grasped Lydia firmly by the back of the neck with one hand, and kissed her with unexpected tenderness. Her free hand began to massage one of the Six's nipples, and only then did the captain move her hips and take her wife over the top. Lydia's moans turned to uninhibited screams, which the well-trained and highly professional crew of the _Virgon Express_ had long since been taught to ignore.

Lydia's body collapsed, the Cylon so exhausted with pleasure that she was nearly comatose. Alarmed, Captain Janks quickly lowered the top beam to relieve the pressure on her beloved's neck. But she had absolutely no intention of releasing her wife from this most interesting variation on a Canceron love swing. Captain Sibyl Janks had an antique and very valuable collection of erotic bamboo etchings at her disposal, a collection that she had never allowed Lydia to see. Each etching was unique, and uniquely inspiring. As she had promised long minutes before … they were just getting started.

. . .

"Lee, why did you bring me down here?" It was late at night, and the makeshift playground was dark and deserted. Even the oldest of the children were now firmly tucked in bed.

"I wanted to show you something that I asked the centurions to build," Apollo replied.

"It's a swing," Creusa remarked.

"It's a very nice swing," Lee protested; "a very special swing. Have a seat."

Creusa frowned at him in puzzlement, but she did as he asked. Lee walked around behind her, and began to push. Instinctively, she began kicking her legs to add to the forward momentum, but he instantly asked her to sit still. "Just relax and let me swing you," he said.

The young Six made a conscious effort to let go … to just float through the air. It actually felt wonderful.

"Is this making you more nauseous," he finally asked, "or does it help, if only a little?"

"It helps," she admitted. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He continued to swing her.

"Lee? I know that I'm an emotional wreck these days, and I know how hard I'm making your life. How do you ever manage to put up with me?"

"Oh, I expect the explanation is very simple … I love you, and I love our daughter."

"You do, don't you? You really do love us. How strange our lives are."

"My parents never believed in such things, but I sometimes wonder what their reaction would have been if they had had my horoscope cast at birth. 'He'll grow up to be a Viper pilot, and fight many battles in a great war. He will fall in love with and marry the most beautiful of his enemies. They will be blessed with many children, and everyone will live happily ever after'. Well," he laughed, "at least I hope that our family will live happily ever after."

"I love you, Lee Adama … and despite all the misery that I bring you these days, we will live happily ever after. That's a promise, and one thing that I've learned from humans is that, when you make a promise, you have to keep it."

Lee walked around in front of Creusa, and gradually brought the swing to a stop. "I made a promise myself tonight." He leaned in to kiss her. "Do you want to know what it is?"

"Will I like it," she asked with a sparkle in her eyes.

"Oh, yes," he mysteriously replied—"but it requires both of us to take off our clothes … all of them."

After they had disrobed, Lee guided her back to the swing.

"We only have one swing," he explained, "but the children come in many different sizes, so I asked the centurions to build it in such a way that we could safely adjust the height of the seat. This way …"

When Apollo was finished, he kissed Creusa lightly on the lips and edged her back onto the swing. He had to test it to make sure that he had got the height just right. For what he had in mind, there was absolutely no margin for error. It took a few more minor adjustments before everything was precisely where it had to be.

Apollo wrapped Creusa in his arms and leaned in to kiss her. "Lean back," he whispered; "raise your arms high up and hold tight to the chains."

Creusa did as he asked, and her perfectly molded breasts began dramatically to protrude. Lee leaned farther down, and took one of them into his mouth. He began to suckle gently, trying as best he could to mimic the motions that their daughter would make when she was feeding. He had absolutely no idea when Creusa would begin to produce what Helo had described as pre-milk, but the whole thing sounded so wonderful and miraculous that he wanted to hurry things along. Initially, Creusa was content to groan with pleasure, but soon enough the atmosphere around her became more erotically charged. Lee's body rapidly responded to Creusa's aroused sexuality; it was time to put the swing to work.

He took a tiny step forward, and felt the shock sweep over Creusa when he entered her. She was ready as well, but she had not anticipated what he was up to.

He grabbed the sides of the swing and, without otherwise moving his body in the slightest, gently put her in motion. She swung back, glided forward … and he slid still more deeply inside her.

"_Lee,"_ she gasped, the novelty of what they were doing overwhelming her.

He pushed her away a second time and then a third, and both times he inched forward to compensate for the swing's changing trajectory, but on the fourth he stopped the swing and pulled her tight. "Raise your legs," he instructed; "wrap them around my back."

Creusa needed no further urging. She felt him deep inside her, deeper than he had ever been before. And yet, he was so gentle, and she could feel the love pouring out of him in the tenderness of his kisses. They had made love many, many times, but never like this … never … like this. Creusa felt like her heart was swelling to the point where it must surely burst out of her chest.

Afterwards, neither of them wanting to let go, they remained as they were, locked together in the shadows of a children's playground at the heart of a Cylon baseship.

. . .

Gaius Baltar dropped his report on Kendra Shaw's desk. He had refused to compromise. It contained the requirements for six Raptors and a crew of fifty-two. If the commander chose to cut corners, he wanted it to be on her head, not his.

Kendra casually scanned the list before looking back up at the scientist. "You've selected Showboat to be the senior officer presiding," she commented. "She seems a surprising choice. What's the rationale?"

"It's true that Marcia Case is somewhat older than the other female candidates," Baltar conceded, "but she still falls well within the child-bearing parameters, and we need someone to lead this expedition who is clearly senior not only in rank but also in age. She was also born and raised on a farm. From my point of view, Captain Case is the logical choice to head the expedition."

Kendra ran her thumbnail down the list, and chose a name more or less at random. "And Lyla Elway? Shark is one of our most experienced pilots. I would hate to lose her."

"She comes from a large family … six brothers and sisters. So, the genetics are promising … _and_ her father was a professional hunter and guide in the jungles of Scorpia. Lieutenant Elway is an expert with the bow and arrow. Self-evidently, she possesses skills that will prove vital to our survival."

"And Red Devil? Narcho? What are their qualifications?"

"Lieutenant Fleer was an apprentice carpenter before he signed on with the fleet. Lieutenant Allison also has a farming background. But both possess other qualifications. Commander, all of the men and women on this list type as RH negative. I cannot overemphasize how lucky we are to be able to limit the pool in this fashion. We've just eliminated a major source of miscarriages, with all of the associative dangers for the mother. To put this in perspective, I suspect that the Cylons are sterile for the simple reason that the male models are all RH positive, while the females are all RH negative. I'm told that there have been a handful of Cylon on Cylon conceptions, but none have survived the first trimester. I have formed a working hypothesis to the effect that the Cylon female rejects her fetus as a threat to her immune system. Commander, the dangers here are very real. We are fortunate in the extreme that we shall be able to avoid them."

"I'll take your word for it, Doctor … biology was never my strong suit." Kendra picked up a pen, and crossed out one of the names on Baltar's list. "Doctor, we'll compromise. I'll task you five Raptors, but I want to make one change on your roster. I'm removing Lieutenant Bayer from the list, and replacing him with Colonel Hoshi. I'll leave it to you to fill the rest of the available spaces at your discretion."

"Uh, Commander, with all due respect … Colonel Hoshi's sexual orientation is incompatible with the objectives of this mission."

"That's true, Doctor, and once you arrive it will leave him above the fray, an officer who can adjudicate disputes without being accused of having a stake in the outcome. But I have also noticed that your list is short on technical personnel in general and CIC staff in particular. Kobol's a big planet, and it might prove helpful for you to have someone around who can operate and maintain your communications equipment. When _Pegasus_ finally arrives, it would be disappointing in the extreme if the only thing waiting for her was a tribe of primitive cavemen."

Kendra Shaw gazed steadily at humanity's last surviving scientific genius. "Forty-eight hours," she said. "Doctor, I want your team to be off our decks and well on its way in less than forty-eight hours."

. . .

With the Eight hovering protectively alongside him, John Bierns reached the bottom of the ramp and walked forward to stand upon the pungent soil of Picon. He was now able to move about with a cane instead of crutches, and he had come to terms with being rendered partially deaf, but the vertigo that held him so tightly in its grip had left him feeling angry and frustrated. The warmth of Picon's distant sun was kissing the back of his neck, and he knew that there was a blue sky overhead, but he also knew what would happen if he looked up. _To hell with it,_ he raged. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and lifted his head.

He opened his eyes, and his mind had just enough time to register and delight in a passing cloud formation before the world began to spin all around him. He would have collapsed, but Gina rushed up to join the Eight, and together they steadied him.

Caprica stared at him for a long moment, making sure that he was all right, and then she walked out in advance of their group. "We know that you're here," she shouted. "We come in peace, and you can see that we are unarmed. Please … show yourselves."

Two of the Eights had landed the Raptor on the edge of a clearing. A large cluster of tents and crude wooden cabins blanketed a clearing that extended hundreds of meters to their right, and a stand of trees and partially cleared undergrowth provided natural concealment to their left. They were at their most vulnerable in this one spot, and Caprica hoped that the human leaders would understand that she had chosen to land here for precisely that reason.

"Raise your hands in the air, and keep them there," a man's voice called out. "Don't even blink, or you're gonna find yourselves waking up in a vat of goo."

Caprica Six sighed, and shook her head in resignation. She had lost count of the number of times that she had played out this particular scene during the Cylon occupation of Caprica. "Fine," she called out, "but would you please try and avoid shooting Major Bierns? He's not cylon, and he won't resurrect."

"He's human?" The female voice came from inside one of the cabins to Caprica's right. "Are you dumping more of your prisoners on us?"

"No," Gina forcefully replied. "We're rebel Cylons, and John is our leader. He's the leader of the whole cylon-human alliance. We're here to help you. Please … can't you see that he's hurt? We need to get him inside; out here in the open, he can't stand without assistance. Shattered eardrums … vertigo … you must have seen this before."

"You've gotta be frakkin' kidding," still another male voice scoffed. "How many times do you think you toasters missed targets that easy?"

"People, I feel like shit." Bierns had his head down and his eyes closed, and he was fighting off wave after wave of dizziness. "Do the words 'take me to your leader' ring a bell?"

"What's your outfit, Major?" The female voice was heavy with suspicion. "You know the drill … name, rank, and serial number."

"I'm Colonial Secret Service, code name Ghostrider … and we don't have ranks or serial numbers. The blond Six that you're all staring at is another CSS officer, code name Brandywine. She's spent the last several months coordinating the resistance on Caprica." John wondered how Gina and the three Eights would react to that bit of news, which he and Natasi had omitted from the briefings on the baseship.

"You have got to be frakkin' kidding me," the woman yelled. _"You had skin jobs in the CSS?"_

"Lady," John curtly remarked, "just how in the name of the gods do you think any of us survived a full-blown nuclear holocaust, with a couple of million centurions going around mopping up in the aftermath? _We had help._ There's a Cylon civil war going on as we speak, and I really would appreciate it if you would stop pointing guns at my senior staff. If you haven't quite caught on yet, these are the good guys!"

"Whaddya think, LT? Do we kick these people up the chain of command?"

"Pericles … Nestor," the female ordered, "check them for concealed weapons."

Two scrawny young men came out of the bushes, and cautiously patted down Bierns and the five Cylons. "They're clean, LT."

"All right; everybody else … out in the open. Lower your weapons, safeties on."

A woman with dirty blond hair whom John estimated to be in her early to mid-thirties came out of a nearby cabin. She was obviously a Colonial marine, but her uniform had just as obviously seen better days. There was a livid scar running across her right cheek.

"Close encounter with a centurion," he asked curiously.

"Yeah," the lieutenant replied … "too damned close for comfort." She held out her hand. "Lieutenant Andrea Minor, 3654th Colonial Marines … a Combat Engineering Brigade. What the hell happened to you?"

"A close encounter with a G-4 detonator," Bierns replied.

"Well, we'd better get you to the colonel. Can you walk?"

Bierns laughed. "As long as I keep my nose in the dirt, I'm fine. But I can't get into too much trouble because my senior staff doubles as my nursemaids."

"It must be nice to travel in style," the lieutenant grinned. "You got a baseship up there to call your very own?" Andrea glanced up at the sky.

"As a matter of fact, LT, I do. And we're here to offer you people a lift. I don't think you're going to want to be on Picon when winter sets in."

"I was afraid that you were going to say something like that," Andrea sighed. "But save it for the colonel; that way, you won't have to tell the same story twice."

Andrea Minor led their party towards the center of the camp. They passed several wooden barracks, which turned out to be mess halls. There were a few other large structures; the lieutenant pointed out the camp hospital just before they entered the administrative center.

"This was a forced labor camp," she explained as they proceeded down the corridor. "We had to put up our own housing, dig latrines … the usual sort of thing. None of us know what the Cylons we're planning long-term." Andrea glanced at Gina and the Eight out of the corner of her eye. "We woke up one day, and the skin jobs and the toasters weren't here anymore. They simply vanished. Once it became apparent that they weren't coming back and we couldn't rely on them for supplies, survival around here became a pretty grim business."

"We stockpiled supplies for you," Caprica protested. The lieutenant had taken her completely by surprise. "Didn't the Fives … the males that you knew as Dorals … didn't they give you the map coordinates?"

"They didn't give us squat," Andrea remarked with obvious bitterness.

"_Those bastards,"_ Caprica cursed. "John, I'm sorry; the Ones must have been planning to betray us from the outset."

Lieutenant Minor knocked on a nondescript door, and opened it without waiting for permission. She ushered John's party inside, and closed the door behind them.

Andrea performed the introductions. "Major, this is Colonel Alexander Phillips, the ranking officer in the 3654th, and our camp CO. Colonel, this is Major John Bierns of the Colonial Secret Service. This young woman also appears to be a CSS officer." Andrea nodded at Caprica Six. "I'll leave the rest of it to them, sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." The colonel, who appeared to be in his mid-fifties, gestured to the chairs scattered around his desk. "Please, make yourselves comfortable."

When everyone had sat down, Phillips studied Bierns appraisingly. "Have we ever met," he inquired.

"I don't believe so, Colonel," Bierns politely answered. "My duties didn't require me to cross swords very often with marine units."

"What's your code name?"

"Officially … Ghostrider … but I had a more colorful nickname. I was known in a number of circles as the Lord High Executioner."

Bierns watched as the color literally drained from the colonel's face. "My gods," he whispered, "I thought that you were nothing more than a legend … a story that senior officers spread around to maintain discipline in the ranks. If even half the rumors I've heard about you are true …"

"CSS officers weren't policemen," Bierns bluntly remarked, "and we didn't go around arresting people. When I went out into the field, it was to eliminate problems, not resolve them."

"And now you show up with Cylons in tow. What am I supposed to make of that?"

"Colonel," Caprica interrupted, "do you have a reasonably detailed map of the surrounding area at your disposal?"

Phillips shrugged, opened a desk drawer, and pulled out a number of survey maps. He leafed through them, selected one, and passed it to her.

Caprica spread it out on the desk, studied it for a moment, and then touched one spot with her fingertip. "There's a large warehouse at this location," she noted. "It was supposed to be stocked with enough food and medicine to last you several months. Have you checked it out?"

The colonel and the lieutenant looked at one another, and then they both started laughing.

"Oh, it's well-stocked," Phillips conceded; "it's just that all of the MRE's kind of … glow in the dark."

"_Damn it!"_ Caprica slammed her fist into the desk hard enough to leave a dent. She was really angry. "The majority of us came to the conclusion that the whole war was a bad mistake," she explained, "and we declared a unilateral truce. We decided to withdraw from the Colonies, but there was a plan in place to help you survive over the long term. Three of our models did not agree with the majority, and they obviously took steps to subvert the plan. Colonel, I apologize; this was not supposed to happen."

Bierns opened several maps before he found the one that he wanted. He picked up a pen and drew a circle northeast of a small village. "There's a cluster of farm buildings at this location, but they're camouflage. Underneath them is the largest CSS covert supply cache in this hemisphere. I suggest that we go shopping."

Phillips and Minor both bent over the map. "That's over ninety kilometers from here," Andrea said when she looked up. "We've scrounged up a bit of transport, but nothing to deal with supplies on the scale that you're implying."

"How many people do you have in this camp," Gina asked.

"Over eighteen hundred," Phillips responded.

"John, that's almost half the people left on the planet," Caprica observed.

"Well, Colonel," Bierns concluded, "this isn't a social call on our part, so here's the deal. We estimate the total surviving population on Picon at less than four thousand, with another six to seven thousand spread across the surface of Caprica. Both planets are too heavily radiated to sustain human life, but for reasons of their own the Cylons didn't hit Gemenon as hard as the other Colonies, so we propose to evacuate all of you on our baseship. If Gemenon is still habitable, you'll have a decision to make. You can stay in the Colonies, or come with us and join the fight. Right now there's a battlestar out there which, in tandem with two Cylon baseships, is defending a large civilian fleet, but we are desperately short on the kind of practical engineering experience that your outfit can bring to the table. But Colonel … Lieutenant … I don't want to make this offer under false pretences. Please understand that we're a blended fleet. Humans and Cylons are marrying, having children … and what we don't want is to bring several thousand people home with big chips on their shoulders and a lot of hatred in their hearts. Believe me when I say that we've been there, and we don't want to reopen those wounds. So, if you can't accept the Cylons as equals … if you can't work side by side with them for the common good … then we really don't have a place for you. We'll find a home for you somewhere in the Colonies and share supplies as generously as we can, but you can take it as a given that, once we leave, we won't be coming back."

"Major, I appreciate your candor. In all honesty, the idea of Cylons and humans marrying and having kids … well, it takes some getting used to." Phillips glanced around the circle of Cylons. "With all due respect, ladies, you are machines—and, for the life of me, I can't begin to imagine what your offspring would look like."

"You don't have to imagine what a Cylon-human hybrid looks like, Colonel." There was something in Bierns' voice that sent a distinct chill down Alexander Phillips' spine. "You're talking to one right now."

Andrea Minor audibly gasped in surprise, but Bierns ignored her. "We have eighty operational Heavy Raiders on the baseship," the spook smoothly continued, "which is more than enough to lift your entire population to the supply dump. If your people don't mind working with my brothers, we can make this go very quickly."

"Your brothers?" Phillips was dumbfounded. You mean that there are other hybrids?"

"I do have a sister, Colonel, but I was actually referring to the centurions. We have DNA in common … enough that we're family. And just for the record, Colonel, you should know that I'm notoriously thin-skinned, and that I tend to get quite upset when people refer to my family as a bunch of toasters and skin jobs. If we're going to do this, I would really appreciate it if you would ask your command to keep their more colorful epithets to themselves."

Bierns rose from his chair, and the five Cylons joined him. John extended his hand to his counterpart. "Colonel Phillips, ultimately it comes down to a question of trust. If you want our help getting off planet, you shall have it. If you don't, our people will go and fetch these supplies and bring them back to your camp. We'll keep nothing for ourselves. We'll wish you well, and leave you to it."

Phillips reached out and grasped the spook's hand. "Major, I've gotta say … you really are one surprising son of a bitch. But I can give you our answer right now. Get your Heavy Raiders down here, and give us an hour or two to pack."

Phillips turned to Andrea Minor. "Lieutenant, put out the word. There's going to be a full staff meeting in Charlie mess in fifteen minutes. I expect all officers, including the noncoms, to attend. And if anybody asks … we're getting off this rock, and we're not leaving empty-handed."

"Sir!" Lieutenant Minor stood stiffly to attention and crisply saluted before doing an about-face and leaving the room.

Phillips beckoned his guests to resume their seats. "Now, then, Major … let's talk about equipment shortages in this fleet of yours. You tell me what you need, and I'll tell you where we're gonna find it. But first …"

Phillips walked across the room, opened a cabinet door, and pulled out a bottle of ambrosia and the necessary glasses. When he returned to his desk, he poured drinks for everyone.

"Ladies, I don't know whether Cylons imbibe or not, but this is one of those occasions where humans always seal the deal with an alcoholic salute."

"Colonel," Caprica remarked, "we Cylons do have our vices … and this is one of them."

The Eight put her hand on top of the glass in front of her.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but I cannot drink alcohol."

The other Cylons looked at her curiously, but she had eyes only for John Bierns.

"I'm pregnant."

Phillips looked at the Cylon and the hybrid, and shook his head in amazement. "Well, I'll be damned," he said. A stunned and heavy silence filled the room.

John got up and limped over to where the Eight was sitting. He fell awkwardly to his knees in front of her, and clasped her hands.

"A little girl," she whispered shyly; "we're going to have a daughter."

"Eirene," he said without hesitation.

"Peace?" The Eight nodded in agreement. "Yes … it's a beautiful name, and one that calls out to the future that we all wish to embrace. Yes, I agree … we shall name her for the goddess. We shall call her … Eirene."


	32. Chapter 32: Fire Sale

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SCENES OF GRAPHIC VIOLENCE**

CHAPTER 32

FIRE SALE

"As you were, people; don't bother getting up."

Colonel Phillips strode purposefully to the head of the table, and looked around. "Mr. Terence, we could use six more chairs. Everybody … spread out so that we can make room for our … uh … guests."

"We're kind of an informal outfit, Major," Phillips said quietly. "The Three-Six-Five-Four prides itself on being long on performance and short on bull shit. Six, I hope you Cylons aren't offended by straight talk; my people don't tend to beat around the bush, and we can all seem pretty damned impolite."

"Colonel, I'll see to it that everyone on the baseship is alerted to your … eccentricities. Don't concern yourself."

"Thank you." Phillips turned back to his assembled officers, and waited until everyone except Caprica and John were seated.

"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce Major John Bierns of the Colonial Secret Service. This Six is also CSS; I'm told that she's been running the resistance on Caprica ever since the attacks."

The colonel paused long enough to allow the inevitable shock wave to work its way around the room.

"It gets better," he went on. There's a refugee fleet out there somewhere that's being guarded by the battlestar _Galactica_ and a couple of rebel Cylon baseships. We've got a third rebel baseship sitting upstairs right now. These Cylons are telling us that Major Bierns is the leader of a cylon-human alliance, and it's not because he's just another pretty face. The major is a hybrid, one of two children born to cylon and human parents in some kind of top-secret breeding experiment that ran its course decades ago. He's got a sister, whom everyone on both sides of the divide seems to consider the best Viper pilot in the history of the universe."

"_Holy Hera,"_ someone exclaimed. Throughout the room, Phillips' officers were looking at one another in total shock.

"Anyway, they're here to offer us a lift off this rock, and I'm inclined to take it. I don't know about the rest of you, but the sunsets around here are getting a little too rosy for my liking. Happily for us, the CSS has an underground supply dump about ninety klicks from here, and the Cylons have got eighty of those Heavy Raiders of theirs up on the baseship … enough to ferry all of us to the site in one trip. So, I want everybody in this camp packed up and ready to move out in ninety minutes. I gather we'll find MRE's, medicine, clothes, ammo, that sort of thing … in abundance. What we are _not_ going to find is bulldozers, concrete mixers, and all the rest of the stuff that the refugees are going to need whenever that fleet gets where it's going. Nor am I getting a lot of useful information here." The colonel glared unhappily at the three Eights scattered around the table. "We've got two pilots here who tell me that a Heavy Raider can lift a full squad of centurions, which means ten … maybe eleven metric tons. But they don't know the dimensions of the damned doorway. They don't know the total cubic volume. They don't know the maximum weight allowance for different gravities. They've never tried team hauling a rig with … say … twenty metric tons to or from the surface. They have no frakking idea whether our freezer units will interface with systems on the baseship. You all get the picture. But they'll cooperate, and they're offering us the centurions to do the heavy lifting … for which I am duly grateful. So say we all."

"So say we all," the officers responded … with varying degrees of enthusiasm. At one time or another, they had all got up close and personal with the centurions, and none of them had enjoyed the experience.

"Which reminds me," Phillips continued; "you should all know that somebody played around with the major's DNA, and that he's walking around with enough centurion inside him to warrant thinking of the machines as his brothers. He's a little sensitive about people referring to them as chrome domes, toasters, and all the rest of it, so pass the word to the people in your units. I want everyone to show our new buddies a little respect. Am I making myself clear?"

Alexander looked up and down the table, making eye contact with each and every one of his officers. He wanted to make damned sure at the outset that there would be no tragic misunderstandings in the future.

"Fine," he concluded. "Ladies … major … we're a bunch of specialists. Me … I build bridges. Jacobs over there … he installs showers and latrines. Terence and his crew can put up a prefab house in less than half an hour, and an entire barracks in between breakfast and lunch. Do you have people up on that baseship of yours who also work with heavy equipment? Do you perform maintenance routines?"

"Colonel," one of the pilot Eights replied, "most Sixes and Eights don't mind getting grease under their fingernails. We do perform systems maintenance."

"Excellent," Phillips concluded. "With your permission, then, I'm going to send several of my officers back up with you. They'll want to check out storage compartments, refrigeration units … each of them will have a laundry list. Just pair them off with somebody on your side who knows their way around the systems we're interested in, and everything will go fine."

"Excuse me, Colonel," the other pilot Eight said, "but I don't understand. Do your officers want to bring their laundry with them?"

Every human at the table roared with laughter, and most of them looked sympathetically at the Eight. The residual tension lingering inside Charlie mess instantly melted away.

"Sister," Gina patiently pointed out, "a 'laundry list' is human slang. What Colonel Phillips means is that his officers will each have a list of things to do when they come aboard our ship."

The Eight nodded with understanding. "I see. And when they want to do their laundry, do they use some other equally odd expression?"

"No … I'm afraid that that's a laundry list of a different kind."

The Eight glanced at the humans around the table, the confusion plain on her face. "I have never spoken with humans before," she confessed. "Are all of you so difficult to understand?"

"Eight," Lieutenant Marc Jacobs gleefully remarked, "the average human male is just about the most transparent creature in the universe. Most of us like fast cars, loose women, and good drink. But there's not a man in this room who, if he's honest, would claim to understand one damned thing about the human female. If you ever figure them out, we'd all appreciate it if you'd give us some pointers."

The Eight nodded again. "I will study your human females, and I will report back to you with what I learn."

Another roar of laughter swept the room, which puzzled all three of the Eights no end.

. . .

"Lee … Karl … it's so good to see you both. Please, come in." Shelly beckoned them into her quarters. "But, if you're here to see Bill, I'm afraid that he is still in the CIC."

"No … uh … actually, Shelly, we came here to see you." Apollo looked curiously at the dark-haired, olive-skinned girl who was seated on the couch. She was young and stunningly beautiful. Lee swiftly glanced at Helo, but it was apparent that the lanky ECO was also seeing the girl for the first time.

"Polyxena," Shelly said, "I would like you to meet my son-in-law, Lee Adama. And this is Karl Agathon … Sharon's husband."

The raven haired beauty stood up and shyly shook hands with the two pilots.

"Polyxena is one of the young women whom the Ones and Fours were abusing in their breeding experiments," Shelly explained. "I have imposed myself upon her in the hope that she will one day understand that, just as there are good and bad humans, so there are good and bad Cylons."

Helo and Apollo both looked at Polyxena with open sympathy. Everyone in the fleet had been outraged by the discoveries on _Hippolyte_ and _Eurykleia_—so much so that Bill had refused point blank to release the responsible Fours and Sixes. As far as he was concerned, they could rot in the brig for the rest of their days, and to hell with Laura Roslin's oh so pragmatic orders to the contrary. It helped, of course, that Natalie not only didn't want them back but had also let it be known throughout the fleet that she would have no objection to a formal trial for war crimes. The Cylon commander had demonstrated an instinctive feel for politics; her actions had defused a very volatile situation, and she had cleverly exploited the whole mess to garner widespread sympathy for Kara, John, and the cruelly slaughtered cylon birthmothers. John's unending campaign to get people to discriminate between good and bad Cylons now had a powerful advocate and so was finally bearing rich fruit. No one in the leadership expected _Demand Peace_ to rear its ugly head again.

"Polyxena and I see Giana and Sharon every day," Shelly added, "but Creusa has yet to pay us a visit. Lee, how are the two of you holding up?"

"It's hard," Lee openly admitted. "Most days, I feel like I'm being put through an emotional wringer. I know that it's all raging hormones, but even so …"

Lee studied his mother-in-law, a concept that he was still grappling with both psychologically and emotionally. For about the thousandth time, he reckoned that Amelie Fordyce would have a field day trying to figure out how father and son had fallen for two physically very similar copies of the same Cylon model. "How are you doing, Shelly … and how's dad?"

"Well, my hormones don't seem to be raging yet, so at the moment we're both fine. Don't worry, Lee; no matter what happens, I will never lose sight of the fact that your father willingly took two bullets for me. Creusa and I may both be Sixes, but we are two very different people."

"Now," she continued as she walked over to the liquor cabinet, "the two of you look like you could badly use a drink. Let me do the honors." Shelly poured two stiff glasses of whiskey for the beleaguered pilots, and then returned to the couch.

"Is there anything else that I can do to help," she asked encouragingly.

"We … uh … we … uh … we had a very disturbing conversation with Larissa Karanis this morning." Apollo looked at Helo, silently pleading with his friend to pick up this particular pyramid ball and run with it.

"With three thousand additional Cylon females in the fleet, and hundreds of thousands more awaiting activation on your resurrection hub," Helo added, "Larissa was trying to get us to think seriously about … uh ... alternative social arrangements."

"Three thousand?" Shelly frowned in puzzlement, and then she brightened. "Oh, I see. Nurse Karanis is not counting the Threes, Sixes, and Eights whom we boxed when Admiral Cain destroyed their baseship. But we have already begun to reactivate the Sixes. Kara spends two hours on the resurrection ship every day, welcoming them to the fleet. We severely limit the numbers involved because the emotions can become … intense. Afterwards, we require all of them to enter the stream and touch John's memories. The Twos check their responses very carefully, and anyone who fails that particular test is immediately returned to the shelf."

"You've actually had to box some Sixes?" Lee would never have guessed that Shelly could be this cold-blooded.

"Not many," she answered; "in fact … amazingly few."

"Huh?" Helo couldn't contain his surprise. "How can any of your people keep fighting for the Cavils after they've learned the truth?"

"That's just it, Helo … they refuse to accept it. Can you really blame them? How would you react if you woke up one day and some of your closest friends or even members of your family claimed that your entire life was a lie? No matter what the evidence they offered you, wouldn't it be easier to dismiss it all as some kind of elaborate hoax? If Cain hadn't destroyed the baseship and caused them all to download, I don't think we would be losing anybody. But now some of my sisters can accuse us of tampering with their programming or filling the stream with lies. There's little we can do to combat such rationalizations."

Helo stared hard at the floor. Shelly's problems made his own seem selfish and trivial by comparison, and he was trying to mask his acute sense of embarrassment.

"You were saying something about 'alternative social arrangements'," Shelly prompted. She could see that something was bothering the two men; it was best, she concluded, to get it out into the open.

"Maybe she was just trying to get us to stop whining," Lee suggested, "or maybe she was dead serious and really wants all of us to start coming to grips with what she sees as our immediate future, but either way Larissa scared the hell out of us. Shelly, she estimates that Cylon females may well end up outnumbering the men in this fleet by something on the order of twenty or thirty to one. She seems confident that most of them will have the same needs … the same desires … and will … uh … expect us to satisfy them. She made it pretty clear that she sees Stallion's relationship with his two Sixes as both healthy and desirable."

"I see," Shelly commented in a studiously neutral tone. "Am I to understand that neither of you wishes to be at the center of a group marriage?" She was having a hard time keeping a straight face. "Need I remind you that your culture does not regard such households as aberrant? As a matter of law they were recognized in all of the Colonies—and those laws are still in force in this fleet. In the abstract, I would have thought that the two of you would welcome the opportunity to have multiple partners, both human and cylon. Surely you are both familiar with Aristarchus' famous maxim: 'one wife is too many, but four are not enough'?"

"Yeah," Helo said, "I've heard it more than once. But as I recall, Aristarchus never married, so who made him an authority on the subject? I love Sharon, period. I don't want to share her with anybody else, and I'm damned sure that she doesn't want to share me. So, maybe we ought to think twice about going after this resurrection hub of yours."

"What about you, Lee? Do you think that Creusa would be happy to share you with some of our sisters?"

"Are you kidding? Creusa loses it so fast that half the Sixes on the ship won't even talk to me. They're afraid of her, and who can blame them? Let's not forget that the future Mrs. Lee Adama doesn't exactly faint at the sight of blood!"

"You're right, Lee … in fact, I'd say that you and Karl are both monogamous by nature, and have taken life partners who share your deep sense of personal commitment. Nurse Karanis is obviously correct … we do face a difficult problem here. But it will not result in laws forcing you to take sexual partners against your will. Right now, the best thing that you can do is get on with your jobs. Plan our return to the Colonies, so that we can increase our human population. Every life that we save will help us alleviate this and a host of other problems."

"You should also pray," Polyxena said with great solemnity, "above all to Aphrodite and Isis."

"Pray for what," Lee asked.

"That we quickly find the home of the Thirteenth Tribe, and that they welcome us. You should pray that the thirteenth quickly fall in love with these machines and take the problem off your hands."

Karl and Lee got up to leave, but Shelly wasn't done yet.

"When is the last time that either one of you spent time with Kara outside of your official duties?"

"It's been a while," Helo admitted.

"In addition to her stints on the resurrection ship, Kara takes time every day to commune with her baseship, and she makes frequent visits to Reun's chamber so that she can monitor John's recovery."

This was news to both pilots, and the startled looks on their faces said as much.

"Our child was badly injured rescuing my sister from _Pegasus_," Shelly calmly continued. "Reun was concentrating on shielding Hera from his pain, and she lost him. It was a very bad time for her, and for Kara as well, although for Hera's sake she did everything that she could to bury her anxiety. Lee, Kara needs you … she needs you as well, Karl … and for all intents and purposes you've both abandoned her. Human Kara is very lonely, and it would help a lot if her closest friends could make some time for her."

"_Gods,"_ Apollo whispered. He was staring up at the ceiling, trying to figure out how he had ever made such a mess of things. Shelly was right. He was so completely caught up in his own problems that he hadn't given a single thought to Kara's.

"You're right," he confessed. "I'll talk to Creusa, and see if we can't find some way to bring Kara into our lives."

"Thank you, Lee; Kara will appreciate your company … and if you ask her, I'm sure that she would be delighted to become Cyrene's godmother."

"What about the major," Helo inquired. "Is he …"

"Recovering, or so I gather. We do not want this to become public knowledge, but two other hybrids rushed to help him, which means that two more ships have turned away from the Cavils. John has led them back to the Colonies; as we speak, the Cylons are carrying out rescue operations on Picon. We pray that our child intends to bring the survivors to us, but he can be devious, so we do not want to take anything for granted. This is why Bill has decided to restrict access to the information; we have no desire to raise false hopes."

"And to think that my daughter will probably have this gift," Helo said. There was wonder in his voice. "I try to imagine Hera being able to project into another dimension at will … being able to communicate across thousands of light years as easily as if you were shouting out to someone in the next room. But I can't. As hard as I try, I can't wrap my head around this … it's too big. And I can't help but wonder if the Thirteenth Tribe will take the measure of my daughter … maybe count her among the gods."

Shelly finally laughed out loud. "Karl, really … instead of wondering whether people will regard Hera as a goddess, perhaps you should concentrate on learning how to change diapers, never mind the million and one other things that we prospective parents need to master!"

. . .

"Pregnancy really agrees with you," Kara remarked. She was sitting atop a large boulder, luxuriating in the heat that radiated up from its surface even as she reveled in the feel of warm sunlight caressing the back of her neck. "I swear … you're glowing."

Deirdre laughed. She was trying to float in the middle of the three pools, the one that they reserved for bathing. But she was now so heavy with child that she had lost her natural sense of buoyancy. Reun was in the water at her side, using both of her hands to steady her sister and keep her from tipping over.

"I feel like a cargo carrier with an unbalanced load, which in a way is exactly what I am! Ariadne loves the water, so we're planning to have the birth take place right here. Right now, she's playing. She wants to roll me first to one side and then the other, so she keeps moving around. Don't you, sweetheart?" Deirdre was moving her right hand back and forth across her enormously protruding belly, keeping pace with the movements of the child within.

"Your due date must be getting really close," Kara added.

"Five … six weeks at the most," Deirdre agreed. "But she could come out right now, and I think that it would be okay. She's ready … far more so, perhaps, than her father. He's in a bit of a panic."

Now it was Kara's turn to laugh—a full throated sound that was music to the ears of her two hybrid sisters. She twisted around so that she could look back up the slight rise to the house behind her. She could see that John was still hard at it, frantically adding more rooms to what had already been an imposing structure. He had offered to build Pelea, Cassandra, Circe and Olivia dwellings of their own, but the six hybrid sisters had talked it over and decided that they wanted to live together. So John was constructing more bedrooms, and since he wanted everyone to have a sea view, physically the house was becoming so long that it was beginning to resemble a barracks. But there wasn't a barracks in the universe that held a bed quite like the one in what Kara had maliciously dubbed the "master bedroom." She calculated that it would easily sleep ten, and it belied the unorthodox living arrangements that she knew Deirdre was intent upon sharing with her brother and sisters. That was why Kara was here. For months, Deirdre had been gently pressuring John to give Reun a child of her own, but he had stubbornly resisted. Initially, Kara had found it hilarious that a Colonial Secret Service agent … a man professionally trained to regard sex as just another weapon in the arsenal … could be such a prude. But the whole situation had ceased to be funny the moment Doc Cottle tendered his latest report. It was bad enough to discover that Cavil had kept tweaking the experiment … bad enough to discover that, unlike John, she shared DNA with Pelea's baseship … but she could live with that knowledge. Mentally, she had already found a slot for the baseship in her conceptual view of the universe. If the Sixes were her moms, then Kara reasoned that the baseship must be her maternal grandmother. Weird, but Kara Six prided herself on being able to roll with such punches, and it didn't bother her. In fact, now that she knew what was going on, her ability to converse with the ship actually made a certain amount of sense.

It was the other half of Cottle's report that had brought her here this day. Cottle might be a nearsighted old plodder, but Kara conceded that he was also thorough, and he had caught what the brilliant but sometimes sloppy Gaius Baltar had missed. The DNA results were conclusive: John Bierns shared a common ancestor with Reun, Pelea, and Cassandra. It was overwhelmingly probable that the ancestor in question was their father, and it was therefore reasonable to assume that he was the half brother of every hybrid in the cylon universe. John had unwittingly married his own half sister, which made Ariadne the product of an incestuous relationship. But she was also a virtual child being born into a virtual world, and Kara's sisters had drilled it into her that on Galatea Bay the rules of the outside universe were relevant only if one chose to apply them. Therein lay the heart of the problem that she felt compelled to raise for discussion. They could leave the physical rules behind, but what about the social rules? Were they, or were they not, the same people in both dimensions? Did they need to respect the established boundaries, or could they just set them aside and make new rules for themselves as and when it suited their convenience?

"My husband is so incredibly sweet. Olivia says that, when he told his aunts and uncles about Ariadne, you could have heard a pin drop in the conference room. Since then, he's been driven. He's not satisfied just to lead the human survivors to a hidden supply base on Picon that will see to their basic nutritional needs for years to come. It's not enough for him to help them track down the heavy equipment and construction materials needed to build a new world. Oh, no; he's pushing the Sixes and Eights to overfly the entire planet and isolate every pocket of land that has so far escaped the fallout. And what is it that my utterly obsessed husband is looking for? Baby furniture … toys and coloring books … clothing for children of all ages … uncontaminated formula, pabulum, and baby food … diapers, lotion, and baby powder. And of course he's looking for medical textbooks and books on baby care. Kara, watching John run everyone ragged … well … let's just say that he doesn't seem to understand that women were delivering babies long before there were doctors, nurses, and hospitals. We're going to deliver the baby together, right here in this pool, but he's really convinced himself that brain surgery would be less challenging. I keep telling him that I'm ready for this … that I know what I need to know … but he simply refuses to believe me."

"He's worried about all the things that could go wrong."

"Giving birth is a miracle, each child a gift from God. I want him to experience the joy of these moments; nothing will go wrong. Talk to him for me."

"I will, but Deirdre … I need to talk to everybody. There are things that we have to discuss … all of us."

"Well, then, help me out of this pool, and let's go inside. My husband has done enough carpentry for one day."

. . .

"Sever his Achilles and wrist tendons," Creusa ordered. "I enjoy watching him flop around like a fish out of water."

A pair of Eights, both of them now highly proficient in the use of a scalpel, hastened to obey. The precise surgical cuts left Cavil completely helpless, and freed the Sixes and Eights from the bothersome chore of strapping him down.

The One was still showing the effects of the narcotic. Before each download, Creusa liked to pump the husk full of drugs. Sometimes she opted for a hallucinogenic cocktail, sometimes for anxiety-inducing agents, and sometimes for heavy sedatives. She liked to keep Cavil off-balance and guessing. This time, she had chosen a sedative that made time slow down to a crawl. When she slapped him, Creusa wanted the bastard to see it coming.

"Hold him upright," she instructed. A pair of Sixes got their hands under Cavil's shoulders, and pushed his torso more or less erect.

Creusa slapped him, and she put all of her power into the blow.

"Wake up," she hissed; "naptime is over."

"Frak you, Six," Cavil groaned … "frak all of you."

"It's not going to happen, One. You're never going to get to use that pathetic cock of yours on a woman again. But I am planning to put your mouth to good use. Do you know what's in store for you this time?" Creusa picked up a small pair of pliers and held them out for his inspection. "If you don't tell me what I want to know, I'm going to pull your teeth out one by one. I've been led to understand that, without anesthetic, it's going to hurt a bit. Aw, who's kidding who? It's going to hurt _a lot_! But I won't destroy this husk … I'll just set it aside. When your gums have properly healed, I'll let you and the Fives get up close and personal. As you well know, there are tens of thousands of their husks on this ship, and you're going to have the privilege of sucking their miserably undersized cocks … every single one of them. I hope you enjoy the taste, because it's the last thing you're ever going to get to eat."

Creusa slapped him again, and then again. "Did that hurt," she asked. "Did it, as the humans like to put it, 'rattle your teeth'? Let's find out." She nodded to the two Sixes. "Put him down, and hold his head absolutely still."

Cavil flailed about, but the Sixes were strong, and the two of them held the One's head in a vise. Creusa shoved the pliers into his mouth, got a grip on a randomly chosen tooth, and started yanking. She took her time, and she made no attempt to loosen the tooth in its socket. If a part of the One's jaw bone came away with the tooth … so much the better.

The One screamed, and when Creusa was finished and holding up the tooth for his inspection, he was still screaming. Blood was streaming out of the gaping hole in his upper jaw. Creusa grabbed a handful of gauze padding, and brutally shoved it into the gap. She didn't want the One to drown in his own blood.

"We've located the Hub," she explained as she idly waved the extracted tooth back and forth in front of his eyes, "but our hybrids have not been able to locate the Colony. I want you to help us look … and I want to know where Kara and John's mothers are boxed. You can tell me that, can't you? And while we're at it, you can satisfy my curiosity about something. In the broad scheme of things, it's not really important … just a tiny little detail … but a lot of us are wondering why you decided to leave Kara and John alive. Why them, and not the others? What were you hoping to accomplish with these two children?"

"Not feeling talkative," she asked sympathetically. "Well, never mind. I quite like dentistry."

Creusa fastened onto a second tooth, and began slowly pulling it. She stopped when she could feel it beginning to give way. "My arms are getting tired, Cavil; I hope you won't mind if I pause for a moment to catch my breath."

She waited until his breathing became less ragged, and then she resumed. "There's no point in rushing things," she commented; "dentistry really is an exact science."

When she was finished, the One was screaming at the top of his lungs. When her patience was exhausted, Creusa suddenly lashed out with the pliers and grabbed his tongue. She pulled it out of his mouth, and casually twisted her wrist. The screaming fell off almost instantly to a gagged, choking sound.

"Actually, I almost forgot. There is one other question that we all want to ask you … well, the Twos don't particularly care, but the Threes, Sixes, and Eights … we care a great deal. Eight pregnancies, Cavil; you achieved eight viable pregnancies against only four failures. How did you do that? We've learned that our creators manipulated our blood to ensure that cylon sexual relations would remain sterile, but the Fours have yet to discover why we can have children with the humans. What's the secret, One? A lot of us have taken human partners, but so far only three of us are with child. What's the secret? Why are Shelly and I pregnant, but not Artemis and Aphrodite? Lieutenant Fears is RH negative, so it should be easy, and they are certainly trying … but it's not working. There's another firewall, isn't there, One? And you know what it is, and how to circumvent it. You're going to tell us; we both know that. So why not save yourself a lot of pain? What do you care whether we all become pregnant or not?"

Creusa released his tongue, and gave Cavil time to think about it.

"Yeah, Six, you're right." Cavil coughed, and spat out blood. "There is a second firewall, and we found it and figured out a way to bypass it. We turned the Eights into frakking baby machines—a one hundred percent success rate. If you knew the secret, they could flood the universe with abominations. But you don't know, and I'm not gonna tell you shit. Some of you will still get knocked up, but not many. Most of you can frak the meat sacs from now until the end of time and it won't matter. And you're right about the frakkin' Abominations as well. They weren't a random choice; we always had something real special in mind for the pair of them. But things didn't work out … I guess it really is the case that you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Still, all is not lost. My brothers are inventive and persistent, so go ahead, Six … have your fun. In the end, you're gonna lose … and there's nothing you can do to prevent it."

"One, I must confess that you had me worried there for a moment." The expression on Creusa's face was unbelievably cruel. "I thought that you might actually tell me what I need to know, but this early in the game? Why, that would be no fun at all. So, please, keep telling me to frak off. Keep bragging that you're not going to tell me shit. Before I'm done with you, I promise that you'll be desperate to tell me all the secrets that are whirling around inside that little machine brain of yours. You'll be begging me for a chance to talk … begging me to listen."

Creusa reached into Cavil's mouth, and got a purchase on another of his teeth. "Let's see what we've got here," she said as she started to remove it.

. . .

"Should I be nervous? I mean, this suit is top of the line; I don't want the Eight to get goop all over it."

Cavil looked at Doral, and shook his head in despair. When and how the Fives had discovered pinstripes was currently a very fashionable topic among the Ones because it coincided with an alarming run on the baseship's aspirin supply. A two-piece burgundy suit with broad mustard stripes was one thing, but …

"Aaron, you really need to lose the shirt and tie. Didn't anyone ever tell you that polka dots and stripes don't mix?"

"I'm making a bold fashion statement," the Five sniffed. "My brothers and I have decided that our sense of style has been contaminated by human aesthetics. We are making a conscious effort to reject human paradigms by designing color coordinates that speak to the machine in all of us."

Cavil was sorely tempted to whip out his pistol and shoot the idiot, but he settled for making a mental note to add the Fives to the now impressively long list of questions that he wanted to ask Mama Ellen and Papa Saul just before he ordered the centurions to dice them up and serve them to his numbskull of a brother for lunch. Cavil was now openly campaigning to have Cavil boxed. He still didn't have the votes, but he figured that another meeting or two would do the trick. There were only so many rounds of "my friends" that a decent, self-respecting machine could take.

"Sorry to be late," the Cavil who was always late apologized as he rushed in. His tone conveyed just the right note of calculated insincerity.

"You're not late," Cavil said dismissively. "We only got started five minutes ago; I wasn't expecting you for another half an hour."

"Yes, well … I'm here now, so let's get this show on the road. What's the objective this time … fawning submissiveness? Or are we trying for a healthy appreciation of the color black?" Cavil cast a very disapproving glance in the Five's direction.

"Neither of the above," Cavil replied. "I've added a bit more aggressiveness to the program, in the hope that the Eight will display somewhat greater initiative than in the past. The idea is to have her openly appreciate that we're God's gift to machines."

"Are you planning to do something with her clothes?" Doral was walking around the tank with his arms firmly crossed. He was deeply concerned. "The Eights don't seem to realize that pastels do nothing for their eyes. Bold colors … we've got to get them excited about bold colors."

"Be patient, Aaron; I'm working on it. But let's get the basics squared away before we zero in on the accessories." Cavil plugged the CPU into the system and started the download.

The Eight felt her consciousness flowing through the crimson firmament at the speed of light, and she gasped for air as she completed the download and warded off the momentary sense of confusion that always accompanied the process. As her eyes gradually swam into focus, she noted the three male Cylons standing around the tank. She leaned her head back against the side of the vat, closed her eyes, and daintily stuck out her tongue. She could almost taste their anxiety.

_Frak! This can't be the afterlife! God couldn't possibly play such a dirty trick on me. No frakking way!_

The Eight climbed out of the tank, and reached up to stroke her hair. She flicked resurrection goop onto the floor.

"Does anyone have a towel?" The Eight frowned. _Has my voice always been this throaty?_

Aaron picked a towel off the edge of the vat and held it out to her at arm's length. "I brought you a bathrobe as well," he said. "I hope you like yellow."

"Thanks, Five … it's my favorite color." She blinked seductively as she donned the robe. "Great tie," she added approvingly; "it goes well with the stripes. You've become one mean and funky machine."

The two Cavils groaned out loud. They were sharing the same thought: _another failure_.

The Eight strolled over to confront the Cavil who had made upgrading her model the top priority in his life. She casually discarded the bathrobe, and placed her hands on her hips.

"What's the matter, One? Don't you like the package?" She leaned forward, and slowly ran her tongue along his chin.

The One who had arrived fashionably late began waving his right hand vigorously back and forth in front of his face. "Brother, are you sure that you've correctly calculated her pheromone output," he asked sarcastically.

"There's room for improvement," Cavil conceded. "Right now, I've got Raiders out searching for _Galactica_. Once we locate the fleet and get a better sense of their course, I'm planning to crash land a bunch of Sharons on any habitable planet along the route. My new and improved Eights will have Adama on his knees begging for mercy in no time at all."

The Eight suddenly reached down and grabbed the One's testicles. "Not good enough," she pouted; "not nearly good enough." She began weighing her options, which did not include Ones and Fives.

"I want a man," she purred; "a real man. Do we have any humans on board?" The nude machine began to walk out of the chamber.

Cavil pulled out his gun and shot her in the back of the head. He waited for her to download into the CPU and then returned her to the shelf.

"Yeah, yeah … I know … this is the seventh time we've tried and the seventh time we've failed. Never fear, brother, I am nothing if not persistent and inventive; all will be right in the end."

"Well, I'm late for another meeting," the brother who was always late announced. "We've finished editing Corman's files, and I'm told that the package is just about ready to go. From now on, none of our wayward brothers and sisters will be able to deny that the humans are a bunch of warmongers."

"Speaking of humans," Cavil mused, "I could use a few. I can't properly refine the Eights' pheromones without some test subjects."

"We could always go back to Caprica and collect some of the resistance fighters," Doral suggested helpfully.

"Nah … it's too much bother. I've given the Raiders orders to disable any Viper or Raptor they come across so that we can capture the pilots. A couple of pilots … that's all I need. Of course, they won't survive the experience, but the condemned man will certainly get to eat a hearty last meal!"

. . .

"Well done, everyone," Hoshi called out; "that's seventeen jumps in the bank. Now, I want everybody to get up and stretch. I know that these are cramped quarters, and none of us have any room to move about, but fatigue leads to mistakes, and we don't have the luxury of making them. So, we have to stay fresh, stay sharp. Doctor Baltar is calculating the next set of jump coordinates as we speak, but it's going to take some time because we have to update our stellar references."

Hoshi switched to a scrambled frequency, and turned to look back over his shoulder. He knew that Baltar was at the ECO's primary station, but there were so many boxes and bodies in his line of sight that he couldn't even see the doctor. Quietly, he activated the channel.

"Showboat," he whispered, "confirm that you read on this frequency."

"Colonel, I hear you four by four."

"Good. I'll leave this channel open. Continue to run your own calculations, and report in when you're ready." Neither Shaw nor Hoshi trusted Baltar, and Shaw had drilled it into her subordinate that he needed to arrange for independent verification of every single set of jump coordinates that Baltar generated. No one was quite sure where the treacherous scientist's loyalties lay, but they were all convinced that he would do whatever it took to preserve his own scrawny ass.

"DRADIS contact," Lieutenant Elway screamed on their primary channel. "I make it two Raiders, inbound at high speed!"

"Pilots, check for Colonial transponder signatures," Hoshi ordered. "Do not fire unless fired upon; repeat, hold your fire!"

"I'm reading negative on the Colonial transponders," Narcho reported. The bogies are hostile; repeat … we have hostiles inbound!"

"Attention all pilots, prepare for evasive maneuvers." Hoshi willed his voice to remain calm. "ECO's, bring countermeasures on line; verify that chaff and decoy packages are launch ready. Doctor Baltar, we could really use those jump coordinates."

"I'm sorry, Colonel, but this sort of thing can't be hurried, and we can't risk a blind jump. You will just have to keep them off our backs!"

_Come on, Showboat, _Hoshi's brain was screaming; _talk to me! Talk to me!_

"The Raiders are CBDR, and closing fast," Narcho announced. "They'll be on top of us in forty seconds tops!"

"Thumper … Red Devil … take point. You are weapons hot … I repeat, you are weapons hot. Pilots, prepare to execute dispersal pattern delta on my mark; I say again, go to pattern delta on my mark … ready … mark."

"The Raiders are trying to hit us with a virus," Baltar yelled; "they've breached my first firewall!"

"Still CBDR," Lieutenant Annette Parsons shouted. "I'm going for missile lock!" Thumper moved out in front of Red Devil and engaged her targeting acquisition system. "Target bearing is still constant, and I have lock." The lieutenant slammed her hand down on the console. "Firing … missile is away!"

"The target is turning hard to port," she announced, "but I still have a good track. The lock is holding … holding … frak! The bogie just jumped. Colonel, we need to get out of here, or we're gonna have toasters all over our collective ass!"

"The second bogie is taking it down hard to starboard." Steve Fleer rapidly adjusted his bearing, but he was too late. "Colonel, he's going for our kill slots, and I don't have a vector!"

"I'm on it," Narcho barked. He turned hard to port, dropped his nose, and scrambled to cover the rear of their tiny formation.

"Everyone, hit your afterburners," Hoshi commanded. "We need to put some distance between us and the Raider. Narcho, have you got our backs?"

"Affirmative, Colonel … the bogie is still maneuvering, but he's not powering up missiles. What the frak is he up to?"

"Nothing good, I assure you …"

"DRADIS contact," Thumper interrupted. "Holy frak! It's a baseship! They're launching Raiders … Heavy Raiders …"

"Doctor, we really do need to get out of here." Everyone on the Raptor could hear the sense of urgency in Louis Hoshi's voice.

"New jump coordinates coming down," Showboat yelled. "Let's move it, people!"

"_They're through the second firewall,"_ Baltar screamed. _"We need to go right frakking now!"_

Hoshi stole a quick glance out the canopy, and his heart leapt into his throat. There was a solid wall of Raiders and Heavy Raiders bearing down on them.

"Jump! Jump! Jump! All birds, execute immediate jump! Narcho, get your ship out of here … jump now!"

"But Colonel …"

"Go, Narcho! I'm right behind you."

Hoshi had already input the coordinates; he was just waiting for the last of his birds to clear. As soon as he confirmed that Narcho was away, he punched the button in front of him and felt his body being once again torn out of the universe. Almost instantly, everything reverted to normal.

_Too soon, _his brain was warning him, _too soon! _He looked out the canopy, and to his horror saw that at least a dozen Raiders were swarming all around them.

"FTL sync fault," he said with a note of weary resignation. "I need twenty-five seconds to reset the jump sequence." But, like everyone else on the tiny ship, he knew that they didn't have twenty-five seconds. Suddenly, the Raptor's nose lurched heavily to port, and a hailstorm hammered their rear.

"_FTL is offline."_ Baltar was reading the blinking message on his console, his mind recoiling in disbelief.

A Heavy Raider swam lazily into view, and a grappling line emerged from its belly. They could all hear the grapple bite home, and the Raptor abruptly rose and began swinging to starboard.

Hoshi didn't hesitate. He immediately began to purge the Raptor's navigational computer, and he was already hard at work on the back-up systems before the purge had finished wiping the hard drive clean. "Skinflint, take over for Doctor Baltar. Initiate a systems purge at both the primary and auxiliary ECO stations."

"Consider it done, sir!"

"Now listen to me, all of you." Hoshi had turned in his seat to address his dozen frightened passengers. "They want prisoners, and that means that they want information. We can all expect to be interrogated. You know the procedure: name, rank, and serial number. Don't volunteer anything, but don't hold out until you're right up against the breaking point. Give them _Pegasus_. The size of our force … the supplies … the number of fuel nacelles on each Raptor… they'll figure it out quickly enough for themselves, so it costs us nothing to let them have the truth. But we need to hide a big lie inside that truth. When they ask where we were going … when you have to give it up … you tell them Caprica. You tell them that Cylons in the fleet made it clear that there are still people on Caprica. You tell them that we were going home. You do not, under any circumstance, let them get near Kobol. You tell them anything else that they want to know, but you do not give them Kobol."

Hoshi made eye contact with as many of his crew as he could see. "Don't be heroes," he urged. "We're all scared, but that's okay. There's nothing wrong at this point with being terrified. If the skin jobs are convinced that we're all scared out of our wits, then we have a better chance of pulling this off. Remember, in the end, give them everything except Kobol. We have to protect our shipmates. We have to give them a decent chance."

The Raptor was drawn into a cavernous landing bay, and lowered gently to the deck. Looking through the canopy, Louis could see that the hangar was crawling with centurions and some of the male skin jobs.

"No weapons," he ordered. "Teresa, drop the ramp. I want everybody to move slowly out and form a line. Let's make it easy for them."

The deck hand nodded, took a deep breath to steady her nerves, and hit the release. She walked slowly down the ramp, and straight into a sea of monstrous red eyes.

. . .

"Colonel, I'm scared. And I'm also reasonably certain that I'm losing my mind, although that's probably no big deal."

Kara sighed heavily, and silently gestured to the empty chair on the other side of her desk. "What is it this time, Kat?" Between the few humans on the baseship and the seemingly endless stream of Sixes that she was greeting every day on the resurrection vessel, Kara was dispensing so much therapy that she seriously wondered whether she could be charged with practicing without a license.

"I'm actually starting to like the Twos. They do what they're told … they never complain about anything … and the one that I've been sleeping with …"

Kat shook her head; she couldn't believe what she was about to confess. "It took some time to break him in, but Kara … the guy is so _reliable_! Do you know what I mean?"

_Oh, I am so going to enjoy this! _Kara put on her best Triad face, but she didn't know how long she could hold it. "No, Kat; I don't know what you mean. Why don't you spell it out for your overworked and totally exhausted CO?"

Louanne looked at her in surprise. "Are you kidding me? You're half Cylon … more than half Cylon. Do you really expect me to believe that the great Kara Thrace Six gets _tired_?"

"Yeah, Kat; I get tired, as in _really, really tired_. I seem to have been stuck with human DNA in that particular department. So, let's have it. I'm already late for my daily chat with grandma … you know … therapy for the therapist?"

Kat gave her a strange look. Rumors about Kara's "ancestry" on the maternal side had washed across the fleet, and some anonymous wag on third watch in _Galactica's_ CIC had got away with taping a crude genealogical chart to the DRADIS console. Given Kara's abrasive personality, it was hardly surprising that the hybrid was now stuck with a chain saw and power sander for her maternal great grandparents.

"Well, what I mean to say is that the guy is _always _ready, and he _never_ underperforms. He doesn't get headaches … never makes excuses … and he doesn't let his ego get in the way. He's actually willing to learn! And … he has access to some really good stuff."

Kara leaned back in her chair. "Captain, if we're talking about the Twos' widely rumored stash of hallucinogenic substances … are you sure that you as CAG want to broach this subject with your commanding officer?"

"Oh, come on, Kara. You need to loosen up. Seriously … you're wound up tighter than a coiled spring. A little down time with the Twos might do wonders for you, and it's not like I'm gonna tell."

"Kat, do you realize what would happen if I lit up even so much as a single joint? Every Cylon in the fleet would come running, and probably half the humans. _The Guide's gonna have a vision … ooh … ooh,_" she said in disgust. Kara started waving her hands in the air. "I'd have to beat them off with sticks … and it's not like I have any privacy now. I cannot go anywhere without at least a couple of Sixes on my tail. I'm just surprised that they let me wipe my own ass."

"That's what I'm telling you, Kara … you need to escape the nest. Hell, what you really, really need is some cheap, meaningless sex. Get high, and get laid … in that order. It will do you a world of good."

"So, how do you like swimming in the stream?" Kara assumed her best wide-eyed and innocent look. "Has Leoben found your destiny in there yet?"

"Hey, don't knock the stream," Kat smirked. "Last night, we … uh … did it on one of the auxiliary consoles, and he had his left hand in the goop the whole time. He gave me a running commentary on this nebula that's ahead of us. There's this big canyon running deep into the drift, and the stars on either side are all hazy because of the stellar dust. The way he describes it … they seem to be winking on and off, just like on the trees during Saturnalia. Leoben says that if I fly in there with a Viper, it's gonna feel like I'm crossing the floor of an ocean after God's parted the waters. He can be really poetic when he wants to be."

"And your destiny," Kara pressed.

"Yeah, I have one," Kat conceded. "To live a long and happy life after you take us home." Louanne looked around, and lowered her voice. "Kara, he really believes in you. They all do. It's no joke. I know you don't want to hear this, but you have got to come through for these people or the consequences will be devastating. The Cylons are extremely religious, and they believe in the literal truth of prophecy. You're the angel who's going to guide us to a new world … a new life. Their faith in you is so absolute that …"

Kat stopped in mid-sentence; the look of frustration on Kara's face was unmistakable.

"Kat, do you have any frakking idea how hard it is to live on a pedestal? I don't know where Earth is! Do you hear me? I … do … not … know … where … Earth … is! I'm just as lost as everybody else in this fleet!"

"Damn it, Kara, if you don't like being stuck on top of a pedestal, just throw yourself over the side! The Twos will catch you if you just give them the chance. Let them see you drunk. Get high. Get laid. Remind them that a big chunk of you is human, which means by definition that you're a screw up. Force them to deal with you on your terms, not theirs. That's what I'm doing, and it's really working out pretty well."

"_Gods, I can't believe this conversation. I can't believe that I'm actually thinking about what you're saying."_ Kara leaned her head back, and stared up at the ceiling. "All right, but I want some cover. Stallion and his two girlfriends have to be there. And Miriam and Rachel … they're as crazy as I am. But I swear to the gods, Kat—if a Two so much as breathes on me, I will rip him a new one. I don't care how 'ready' they are; you warn the frakkers to keep their distance. Drunk and high … yeah, that I can manage … but it stops there. I will not- no way … no how … nowhere- allow a Two to crawl into my bed!"

. . .

"Major, I feel like a shopaholic at a fire sale!"

John Bierns and Alexander Phillips were standing inside one of the baseship's numerous hangar decks. The colonel was patting the side of a chain trencher, a very specialized piece of heavy equipment that was used to cut deep trenches in hard soil. "This baby," he said fondly, "will allow us to lay down sewer and water lines anywhere … absolutely anywhere."

He gestured expansively around the huge chamber, which was filled with construction machinery. "This is what it takes, Major. If you're gonna build a new world, this is what it takes."

"This, and people who have the knowledge to put everything here to good use," John gently corrected. He couldn't even begin to divine the purpose of much of the machinery set out in front of him. "We're very lucky to have found you here, Colonel. Imagine … 3,812 survivors on the entire planet, and we recover your unit virtually intact."

"3,812 survivors on a planet that once had more than 1.4 billion people," Phillips heatedly remarked. He was looking at the Eight, and he couldn't keep the anger out of his voice.

"Let it go, Alexander." John had turned so that he could rest an encouraging hand on the Colonel's shoulder. "Both sides have made plenty of mistakes, but it's all in the past, and that's where we need to leave it. We have to concentrate on the present and plan for the future. The best way to honor all the souls that we have lost is to make sure that their deaths were not in vain. It's not enough to win the war; we also have to win the peace."

"Major, I lost a wife and three children in the attacks. Damn it, I've never even had the chance properly to mourn them. Don't expect the world to change overnight."

"You're right … we've all lost people we loved. Hell, we've lost an entire civilization. But you tell me … how does hating the Cylons on this ship promote healing? They're not the ones who are trying to destroy us. Doesn't it make more sense for us to stand together against our common foe than to fight him separately? All I ask at this point is that we all work together because it's in our collective self-interest to do so. No one's putting a gun to your head, Colonel; no one's telling you to love the Cylons, or else. You still get to make your own choices. Obviously I hope and pray that over time you'll learn to respect and trust one another, but I'm not foolish enough to believe that I can dictate such things."

"Colonel Phillips, we need your help," the Eight admitted. "But it seems to me that you need ours as well. There are so many things that we must do together, or they simply won't get done at all. As you observed earlier, the cold storage units are a good example. We have to integrate your manufactured equipment, which is inorganic, into our organic technology. It will take all of us, working together, to make this happen. If we succeed, then we can carry enough fruits, vegetables, meat, and dairy products to the fleet to correct a host of dietary deficiencies that by now must be taking their toll on the overall health of the population. We can bring ice cream to the children. What do you think, Colonel? If we show up with several hundred industrial sized containers of chocolate ice cream, will Admiral Adama turn us away?"

Alexander Phillips grinned helplessly. "Yeah, you're right, Eight … of course, you're right. So, what's the game plan? Are we going to break orbit, or are we going to stay here until we can get our systems talking to one another?"

"We're gonna have a conference, Alexander, and sort it out the old-fashioned way." Bierns clapped the colonel on the back. "I can't speak for anybody else, but personally I think that this fire sale is just getting started. You can't have a library without books, and you can't show movies if you don't have any films. Now's the time; as the saying goes, 'let's shop until we drop'!"

. . .

"Kat, you're a genius," Felix said approvingly. "Inviting Lee and Sonja to join us turns this into a CAG's strategy session." Gaeta took a drag on the joint, and pulled the smoke deep into his lungs. "At least, that's how it will read in Colonel Thrace's log when she gets around to updating it tomorrow."

Kara Thrace was lying with her back against the wall and her legs splayed out in front of her. She downed another shot of whiskey, and ran the back of her hand across her mouth. "Hey, Felix … thanks for reminding me." She looked at Naomi and Galen, who were lying on Kat's bed in a tangle of limbs. "Chief, we need to talk a little shop. How's my stealth Raider coming?"

"Galen's feeling a bit mellow at the moment," Naomi answered, "but I can tell you that we've run into a snag. We didn't have any problem substituting carbon composite for the alloy skin, but we haven't been able to shield the electronics …"

"The roving red eye is kind of a giveaway," the Chief cut in. "When it goes active, every sensor within range spikes. But we can't send a Raider in cold the way we did with the blackbird, so right now we're stuck."

"Are you in the market for suggestions," Apollo asked. He was also sitting with his back to the wall, but he had crossed his legs so that Creusa could pillow her head in his lap. She was lying on her right shoulder while she idly ran her left hand up and down Lee's chest.

"Can I have a sip?"

"No … you remember what Doc Cottle said … absolutely no alcohol!" Lee raised his glass and swallowed the whiskey in one gulp. He did not want to put temptation in his headstrong fiancée's path.

"Well, can I try inhaling whatever it is that Kat's smoking?"

"Creusa, please … _behave_!"

"So, what's your suggestion, Captain?" Naomi had run out of ideas of her own.

"A colored contact lens," Apollo replied—"a black contact lens, with shielding behind the composite to mask the electronics."

"You're joking," Sonja remarked.

"No."

"Then you're already drunk," she added dismissively.

"Not yet," Apollo snorted; "not by a long shot. Look, you don't have to shield the electronics completely; you just have to change the signature. By the time the Cavils catch on to what's out there, it'll be too late. Remember, the whole idea of an armed stealth ship is to go in undetected, hit hard, and get out. It's not supposed to go toe to toe with another Raider, much less a baseship."

"Interesting," Kat commented. Leoben was lying against the wall to Kara's right, and Louanne had her back pressed against his chest. Her legs were now tangled up with Kara's. Louanne gulped her whiskey, and then reached blindly over her shoulder. The Two passed his joint to her, and she took a puff. "It sounds like what we really need to do is figure out a way to give the Raider a passive navigational control system that's independent of its weapons and scanning array. Keep those hidden away until you actually need them, and by that point it's already too late."

"There you go, Colonel … tomorrow's log entry." Felix took another hit on the reefer.

"Gods, Felix … how much of this shit have you smoked?" Kara tossed down another shot of whiskey, and held out her hand to take the joint from Kat.

"Hey, I've been doing this since I was ten … maybe eleven … years old. Every great idea I've ever had sprang from this source. Did I ever tell you guys about my idea for a restaurant chain? No? Well, when I was a kid I had this inspiration … restaurants shaped like fruit. It was an absolutely, sure-fire cubit maker."

"Pineapples," Stallion mumbled. He was lying more or less on top of Artemis, and Aphrodite was lying more or less on top of him. "Were you planning to have them standing up, or lying on their side?" The trio was already halfway through their second bottle of whiskey.

"I hadn't given it much thought," Gaeta confessed.

"Well, you've got to, Felix … you've got to think these things through."

"Not to worry, Felix," one of the Sharons said. She was resting her head on his left shoulder. "I think it's a great idea. I'd like to eat inside a banana. Maybe we could have a retractable roof for sunny days … you know," she slurred, "like peeling a banana." The Eight leaned up and began exploring the inside of Gaeta's ear with her tongue.

"So, where did you two meet," Kara asked. She passed the joint to the Leoben sprawled out on the floor to her left.

"In the shower," Gaeta said proudly. His eyes were closed; he was enjoying the moment. "If Roslin wants us all to have babies, she ought to pass a law making every communal shower in the fleet co-ed."

"Sounds good to me," Stallion commented as he leaned over to kiss Aphrodite on the top of her head. "But I somehow think the Gemenese might object."

"The frakkin' Gemenese," the Chief snorted. He groped for his glass, but couldn't find it. "Ah, to hell with it," he murmured. He took a long swig straight from the bottle before passing it to Naomi.

"I think that's Stallion's point," Kara giggled; "not enough frakking on Gemenon." She decided to emulate Galen and forget about the glass. She took several long pulls on the whiskey bottle before passing it on to the Two.

"Gods, Kara, what are you trying to do … drink us under the table?"

"Oh, that wouldn't be much of a challenge, Lee … you're such a wuss!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!" Kara looked idly around the room. "Do you remember the night we met, Lee? Zak was passed out cold on the couch, and I dared you to do double shots. You got so drunk that you almost drove your car into the river on the way home."

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Can I ask a question?" Sonja was burning with curiosity. "The broom that's fastened to the wall in the Ready Room; the Viper pilots all give it a pat on the way out to their birds. Is it for good luck? Or is it a symbolic way of saying that they're going to sweep the Cylons out of space?"

"It's sort of the latter, only it has to do with Lee being such a wuss!"

Kara suddenly tossed her head back and started roaring with laughter. "Do you remember, Lee? You told me that when you got home, you found a pigeon in your apartment. You chased the damned bird with a broom, and it panicked and started pooping on everything in sight. You got so mad that you chased it all over your living room. You never managed to smack it, but you did break every lamp you owned. Sonja, I swear, eventually Lee gave up and staggered off to bed, while the triumphant pigeon went around crapping all over the place a second time before flying off of its own accord. When Lee finally woke up … about four days later … his place looked like the Tauron civil war had been fought on the premises. The whole place was a wreck!"

Kara giggled some more. "Anyway, Sonja, patting the broom is a way of saying that you're gonna make a wreck out of everything that gets in your way. It's a little more in your face than the 'good hunting' crap that the CAG normally gives you on your way out the door."

"So, what should I say to encourage my pilots?"

"How about 'now get out there and kick some Cylon ass'? That's always a winner," Stallion suggested.

"Is that what you do every night, Hephaestus? Are you kicking Cylon ass?" Aphrodite was leering down at him while she lazily ran her fingers along the inside of his thighs.

"Ouch! Six, that's a low blow … but not near as low," Kat smirked, "as this!" She began vigorously to massage Leoben's manhood.

"She's an animal," the Two ventured with a contented sigh. "One hundred percent pure, grade A, female … I'm thinking about nicknaming her 'Captain Ever Ready'."

Rachel got up and staggered across the room to sit down beside Leoben and Kat. "Give me a hit," she ordered.

Leoben fumbled around, found another joint, and lit it for her. She leaned back against the wall with an equally contented sigh of her own. "Brother, I'm curious. You were supposed to be an infiltrator, but when you were in the Colonies … is this all that you ever did?"

"Sister, you'd be amazed how much useful information you can gather inside an opium den. But I was always looking for something else … something that would draw me closer to God."

"Enhanced perception," Gaeta queried; "hallucinogenic self-enlightenment?"

"Precisely, Felix … you know me well."

"Oh, believe me … I've been there and done that."

"Did you find God?"

"It's hard to tell. I do recall knocking on the door—but there didn't seem to be anybody home."

"He was probably over at our house," Miriam laughed. "The Threes had to get the idea that God loves the Cylon over all other beings from somewhere. They're just not clever enough to make up something like that on their own."

"Sister, don't blaspheme," the Two lying to Kara's left admonished.

"Oh, shut up, Leoben." Kara picked up her bottle and passed it across. "Here, have a drink."

"I'm wasted," the Two complained.

"You're in the big leagues now, Two," Kara purred. "You're playing with the big cats. It's time to put up or shut up."

"Hey, Kara, I'll drink with you," Kat challenged. "I can drink you under the table any day of the week!"

"_Double shots,"_ Apollo cried as he pounded the floor with his fist; _"double shots!"_

"_Double shots," _Galen echoed- and in a matter of moments the war cry was running around the room.

"Oh, frak me," Kara sighed.

"I can manage that," the Two cleverly observed; "at least … I think I can."

"Oh, shut up, Leoben. Give me back my bottle … and a glass … I need another glass!"

Kara shakily poured whiskey into two shot glasses, and set them on the floor. "You ready, Kat?"

"_Ready!"_

Kara picked up the two glasses and drained them—but she noticed that Kat had matched her shot for shot.

Kara reloaded … but so did Kat. They downed the drinks, and then went at it a third time … and a fourth … at which point Kara Thrace Six rather inelegantly slumped to the floor.

. . .

When she awoke in the morning, Kara's first thought was that it truly was the morning after the night before. A splitting headache … nausea … severe dehydration … they were all old friends and intimate acquaintances. Kara could see that she was in her own bed, but she couldn't remember how she'd got there, never mind how she'd managed to lose all her clothes. And then she rolled over and looked to her left. A Two lay opposite her, passed out cold. She thought that it was the Leoben with whom she'd been sharing whiskey and hits on the joint … the same one who had come on to her so crudely. Kara gingerly lifted the covers and peeked underneath.

"Oh, frak me," she sighed.

The Two was equally naked … but to her infinite frustration and horror Kara discovered that, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't remember a single, gods damned thing. The night before … and far more importantly, the morning after … were a complete blank. She held her head in her hands.

_Did we, or didn't we? _The question kept spinning around in her alcohol soaked brain, and Kara was suddenly out of the bed and running naked down the corridor to the nearest john. She ended up on her knees, violently heaving into the first toilet within reach. She paid no attention to the pair of stunned Sixes who stood looking down at her. They had been applying their make-up, and the last thing that they had ever expected to see was their stark naked daughter kneeling on the floor, her head buried deep inside a toilet bowl.

_Oh, great,_ Kara thought; _this is just great. There's a Two in my bed … maybe I should just call Playa Palacios right now and get it over with. It's sure to be front page news. And I'm gonna have Sixes up my ass from now until next Saturnalia. Great … everything is just frakking great. The only thing missing is the frakking pigeon._


	33. Chapter 33: Shake Hands with the Devil

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER HAS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT**

CHAPTER 33

SHAKE HANDS WITH THE DEVIL

"Welcome aboard, Doctor; it's good to see you again."

Gaius Baltar visibly swallowed the lump in his throat. He was struggling to control his fear, and several seconds passed before he was finally able to speak. The elderly man in black appeared harmless enough, but Gaius knew otherwise. This had to be one of the Cavils … one of the principal authors of mankind's near annihilation.

"I'm sorry, but I don't believe that I've had the pleasure. Um … where exactly did we meet?"

"Oh, I wouldn't expect you to remember me," Cavil said in a deliberately self-deprecating tone. "I was just part of the faceless crowd of official functionaries … the priest who gave the blessing to open the penultimate Caprica Science and Technology Fair. We actually shook hands, although as I recall, your attention at the time was elsewhere. You were quite taken with a certain young lady in the crowd … a mutual acquaintance. You knew her as Natasi, but thanks in no small part to your … how shall I delicately put this … your infatuation with her charms, she is now known to all as Caprica Six, Hero of the Cylon."

Baltar's face turned beet red. He didn't remember Cavil, but he would never forget the moment that he had first spotted Natasi. The tall, angelically beautiful blond had been perusing one of the exhibits, and even from a distance she had taken his breath away. He had decided right then and there that he would have her, and he was confident that she would fall to his reputation and charm as readily as the legion of women who had already paraded through his bed. In his arrogance it had never occurred to the scientist that she might be bait for an exquisite trap—a trap that would ultimately claim the lives of more than fifty billion human beings.

Gaius was about to flatter the One with some polite fiction when another Cylon strolled into the chamber—and Natasi and Cavil both vanished instantly from his thoughts. Baltar had seen dozens of the Sharons in _Galactica's _corridors, and in truth they had never done much for his libido. But he had never seen an Eight who looked anything like this one. Her coal black hair was long and lustrous, and the Eight had swept it over her left shoulder, drawing attention to the well contoured breast that it only partially concealed. She was wearing a tight fitting one piece dress—red silk with a gold floral pattern that stretched from her neck to her ankles. But there were long slits running up both flanks to her hip—slits that inevitably drew the eye to the creaminess of her beautifully proportioned thighs.

The Eight stood quietly to Cavil's left and slightly behind. She was carrying a tray of food, but she was also staring openly at the scientist. Gaius supposed that he was the first human whom she had ever seen, and he unconsciously drew himself to attention, the atavistic portion of his brain screaming at him that with this one he wanted to make a good first impression.

Cavil frowned at Baltar, and then glanced over his shoulder. "Ah," he said, "your lunch has arrived, Doctor. Eight, please put the tray down over there." He beckoned towards a table on the opposite side of the room.

The Sharon silently obeyed, but even as she bent over the table her head rose and her eyes reached out, willing Baltar to fall into their depths. He cleared his throat, only to discover that his mouth had gone completely dry.

_Can it possibly be this easy?_ Cavil was feeling impossibly smug. _Are all humans such fools? _The Eight's pheromones were flooding the chamber, but Baltar's lust wasn't lagging far behind. _I guess it's time,_ the One triumphantly smirked … _to let these two lovebirds go to it._

"Doctor, I've asked this Eight to see to your needs. One good turn deserves another, eh? So, if you need anything … anything at all … just ask her. She's … ah … very much at your disposal."

"Eight," he ordered, "please entertain our guest and make him comfortable." The Sharon nodded in compliance, but she still had not spoken a word.

"Doctor, at the moment I'm rather pressed for time, but we'll talk later. Enjoy your afternoon." Cavil politely excused himself, and exited the chamber.

"I've brought you fruit and cheese," the Eight said in a sultry voice. She picked up an apple and held it out to him. "But if these are not to your liking, I can bring you something else."

Gaius walked over, accepted the apple with a polite little bow, and took a bite. "Delicious," he commented, his eyes never leaving the Cylon female.

"Do you have a name," he asked.

"Sharon," she replied; "but if you prefer another name, I can change it."

The Eight stepped close, wrapped her arms around Baltar's neck, and stared deep … deep into his eyes. "Are you alive," she whispered, her lips now invitingly close.

The apple slipped forgotten from Gaius' grasp as he clasped her hips in his hands. "Never more so," he whispered in return. His lips closed the infinitesimally small distance separating them, and he hungrily kissed her.

The Eight's enthusiasm matched his own. She stepped back, but only so that she could take Gaius' hand and lead him to the large, ornate bed that dominated the room. Baltar wasted no time unzipping her dress, and when she stepped out of it he discovered that she was wearing neither bra nor panty. She lay back on the bed, waiting for him. Devouring her with his eyes, Gaius kicked off his shoes and all but ripped his shirt and pants off. He dove onto the bed and rushed into her embrace. They kissed, and kept on kissing even as their hands began to wander and explore. The Eight moaned with pleasure when his experienced fingers found their way to her clitoris, which was swollen with need. Her juices were already flowing freely, and it was at this point that the scientist discovered that she was a virgin. His cock, already hard, grew harder still, the mere thought of deflowering a virgin intoxicating him.

Gaius' mouth wandered to one of her breasts even as his fingers continued their gentle voyage of discovery between the Eight's ripe thighs. Her moaning became huskier and more insistent, and his own need began to overwhelm him.

"_Take me,_ she urged; _take me now!"_ She opened her legs, silently bidding him to mount her.

Baltar rushed to comply. He probed … pressed against her hymen … tore it. He heard the Eight's sharp intake of breath, and in his imagination he could see the blood that was now leaking onto the sheet. He knew that, when they were finished and he withdrew, he would find his penis stained crimson. The thought of it pushed his ego to the edge of madness, and he began to pump harder, a part of his mind wanting to deny her pleasure, to visit her with pain, to stake out his territory. _You are mine,_ the primal corner of his brain was screaming. _Mine!_

The machine wrapped her legs around the scientist's back, pulling him close, bringing him more deeply inside. It hurt, but she didn't mind the pain. _You are mine,_ the neurons firing through her silica pathways screamed. _Mine!_

. . .

"Have I missed much?"

Cavil didn't bother to turn around. He merely gestured through the one-way glass of the observation booth to the deck below. "See for yourself," he replied in a detached voice. Baltar and the Eight were both riding the tiger, the human consumed by passion and the machine by unreasoning desires born of altered programming. They were both slaves, each of them incapable at the moment of standing without the other to lean on.

"Brother, you have engineered a work of art." There was a hint of envy in the One's voice, the grudging concession of the eternal skeptic. "I wonder … will they be as creative in our presence, or does it take a human touch to achieve this level of realization?"

"We won't know until we put them to the test, will we?" Cavil was growing increasingly impatient with his brothers; it was embarrassing to watch his fellow machines fail so conspicuously to come to grips with a simple heuristic algorithm.

"Well, even from a distance it's obvious that you've effected vast improvements in her technique. I could, however, do without the pheromone shower. Frankly, I'm surprised that the Eight isn't triggering every biological alarm in that chamber."

"I turned them off," Cavil bragged.

"Oh, you have thought of everything," his brother said approvingly. "Well done; very well done indeed."

Cavil checked his watch. "It's time for the second experiment to get under way. Shall we?" He turned and walked to the opposite side of the booth. The One stared at the human female, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed. She was nervously twisting her fingers, and even through the one-way glass he could feel the tension radiating off her. The female kept stealing glances at the doorway, and Cavil didn't have to look in that direction to know that there was a centurion monitoring her. He had planned this moment very carefully. He wanted the prisoner to see her captors, wanted them to heighten her anxiety … all so that the Eight might posture as her savior and get inside her defenses.

"Ah, right on time," he commented with evident satisfaction.

. . .

Lieutenant Philista Liu knew that she was already near her personal breaking point, and the gods damned toasters hadn't even come near her. _So much for the training, _she bitterly reflected. She was a coward, and she wasn't about to kid herself otherwise. She had joined the service while she was in her third term at university, calculating that a few years of duty in exchange for a tuition waiver was a good deal for all parties concerned. She considered herself to be reasonably patriotic, but she wasn't hard core military, and she knew that she was going to spill her guts as soon as the interrogation got started. She suspected that Hoshi had taken her measure, had known she would break, and had given her and everybody else on the Raptor his tacit permission to do so. _Just don't give them Kobol,_ Philista kept telling herself … _just don't give them Kobol …_

She sensed movement in the doorway, and looked up to see a young woman standing there with a tray of food in her hands. Philista's first thought was that there must be other human captives on the ship, but then she remembered the Cylon prisoner that Cain had ordered the crew to abuse. The frakking admiral had never seemed to understand that she was endangering every woman on the ship, had never caught on to the fact that the women under her command, even the officers, avoided walking around _Pegasus_ by themselves, especially during the third watch. _Or maybe,_ Philista considered, _she just didn't give a damn_.

Philista had never seen the toaster that had wormed its way into the admiral's bed, but this one didn't fit her description. _A different model, _the lieutenant concluded; _this has to be a different model._

With her head bowed, the Eight silently entered the chamber. She didn't look up until she was standing at the side of the bed. "I thought that you might be hungry," she hesitantly remarked. "I've brought you food." She sat the tray down on the bed to the human's left, and then walked around to sit beside her.

A look of pure terror washed across the female's face, and the Eight reached out to grasp her arm. "I'm not going to harm you," she hastily added; "please, you don't have to be afraid."

Philista yanked her arm away, and instinctively tried to curl up into a ball. "You're a toaster," she stated flatly.

"A Cylon … is that what you mean? Yes, I'm a Cylon … a … a … machine, although I don't really know what that means. I don't feel like a machine, and I certainly don't look like a machine. In fact, you and I look so much alike … that's why I wanted to meet you … talk with you. You have my eyes … my hair; we could wear each other's clothes. We could be sisters," she said wonderingly.

"Well, we're not," Philista harshly replied. She couldn't keep the loathing out of her voice.

"I know," the Eight conceded. "But do we have to be enemies? I achieved consciousness after the attack on your Colonies, and I don't understand any of this. I don't understand how my brothers and sisters could have done something so horrible … slaughtering billions of innocent beings like that. Do their actions make me a bad person? Will you condemn me just because I'm a Cylon?" She looked at the human with large, sad eyes.

"What's your name," the Eight asked shyly.

"Liu, Philista Y. Lieutenant, junior grade; serial number TK-198875," she intoned in a machinelike voice.

"Name, rank, and serial number," the Eight said with a grin. "That's funny. By the way, my name's Sharon." She held out her hand, but the human refused to take it. Visibly disappointed, Sharon allowed it to drop into her lap.

"Won't you eat? The food's not drugged, if that's what you're worrying about."

Philista eyed the tray warily, but she was hungry. She picked up a bunch of grapes, picked one at random, and cautiously ate it. She knew that she was just being paranoid; if the Cylons wanted to drug her, she didn't think that they would be this subtle.

Sharon reached across her, and grabbed an apple. She took a large bite, and began to chew contentedly. "I thought that you would offer to share," she finally said a bit reproachfully. "I get hungry, too, you know."

"_Hey, I'm sorry, all right," _Philista apologized. She couldn't believe that she'd hurt the toaster's feelings.

"It's okay." Sharon took a second bite out of the apple.

"You're so beautiful," she suddenly blurted out; "much prettier than me. I wish that my cheekbones were as high as yours."

"You pass muster," Philista grudgingly offered in return. "And you've got great eyes. You should thank whoever manufactured you for those eyes."

"We need to get you some real clothes," Sharon decided. "And you're lucky. We're about the same size, so there's lots of stuff around here that will fit you. Do you like what I'm wearing?" Sharon was wearing dark trousers, a simple white blouse, and a powder blue woolen sweater.

Philista shook her head in disgust. "So, what's the deal, Sharon? When's the other shoe going to drop?" Philista didn't know much about interrogation techniques, but she figured that sooner or later the toaster would drop the mask and get on with it.

"I don't understand. Do you want new shoes as well?"

An exasperated look swept across Philista's face. "Oh, come on, Sharon; we both know that you're here to interrogate me, so why don't you just get it over and done with?"

Sharon frowned in confusion. "Oh, yes," she said; "I'm supposed to ask you if you know the coordinates for _Pegasus'_ current location."

"No, I don't. Captain Case was plotting our jump sequences, and she was on one of the Raptors that got away. Why don't you look in the Raptor's nav computer? Oh," the lieutenant smirked, "that's right. Colonel Hoshi scrubbed all of the onboard computers before we landed on this tub."

"Well, that's that, then," Sharon laconically remarked. "It's okay, though; my brothers tell me that we all keep running into one another out here, so I'm sure that _Pegasus_ will turn up one day. Do you miss your ship?"

"No," Philista laughed; "not really. Admiral Cain was a real disciplinarian … what we humans call 'a hard ass'. I don't miss her at all. In fact, I was looking forward to going home." _Here's my chance to play it cute,_ she thought.

Philista Liu favored the toaster with her best naïve and starry-eyed expression. "Is it true," she breathily asked; "are there still humans on Caprica?"

Sharon's eyes went out of focus, and the lieutenant didn't need a manual to inform her that the toaster was rummaging through her own onboard computer. "I don't know," Sharon admitted, "but if you'd like, I'll ask one of my brothers if he knows."

"Yeah," Philista sarcastically commented, "I'd love to find out whether you missed a few."

"I'm sorry about all this," Sharon said with sharply edged regret. And she was sorry … Cavil had programmed her that way. "But don't worry, Philista." Sharon reached up and gently brushed a strand of the human's hair out of her left eye. "I'll keep you safe … I promise. No one's going to hurt you. I want us to be friends." She leaned forward and demurely kissed the unresisting lieutenant on the cheek, but the suggestive look in her eyes made it clear that she wanted to do much, much more. She waited for the human to protest, but Philista remained silent, and that was all the encouragement that Sharon needed. She leaned in a second time, and kissed the human tenderly on the lips.

And Philista kissed her back.

Philista Liu was no prude. She was from a very traditional family on Canceron, but in their determination to protect her chastity her parents had made the incredibly naïve decision to send her to an expensive all-girls boarding school. Philista had come sexually of age in the boarding house next door. It had sported all the features of a maximum security prison, right down to the stereotypical bars on her dorm room window. Unable to explore their sexuality with the boys in neighboring schools, the girls had of necessity formed relationships with one another. In her tenth year, a senior had claimed her virginity, first with her tongue and later with a dildo. It was a rite of passage, and in her senior year Philista had returned the favor by aggressively bedding a girl two years her junior. Philista Liu liked men, but she was equally comfortable with women … _and this sure beats the hell out of being tortured, _she concluded.

The lieutenant took stock of her current situation, and laid her plans. The toaster seemed to be offering her a pretty straightforward deal … _'I'll keep you safe'_ … in return for sex. The young officer had no qualms about making a deal on these terms. She looked Sharon straight in the eye, reached up to clasp her by the neck, and then kissed her much harder. Her hands began to stray hither and yon, and in no time at all they were fondling the Cylon's breasts. It did not surprise Philista Liu in the slightest to discover that the toaster wasn't wearing a bra.

. . .

"Well, that went well," Cavil observed. "Congratulations, brother; these reconfigured Eights of yours will make the perfect stalking horse. Now all we need to do is figure out a way to slip them inside Adama's defenses. They radiate innocence, never mind sexuality, so as long as they keep the pheromones under control they should even fool a hard case like Natalie. I trust, however, that with one push of the proverbial button, they'll spring into action?"

"Actually, they'll be going into battle more or less continuously. There's a simple on-off switch for the pheromones. Every time they're alone with a guy, they'll switch 'on' … but in the presence of two or more, they'll stay dormant. I'll modify the design so that they react to females as well, but I'm going to stay away from the protocols that we built into the sleeper agents. Natalie's too smart to let us get away with that sort of thing. However," he chuckled maliciously, "there's going to be one string of seemingly innocuous programming hung up inside a series of buffers. One single, high frequency burst from a passing Raider will dissolve the buffers … the string will coalesce … and chaos will ensue."

"I like it," Cavil said through pursed lips. "In retrospect, a nuclear holocaust was too damned quick and easy. You can't call it justice if there's no pain and suffering … and billions of the meat sacs didn't even realize that they were dead. This is a punishment that fits the crime. They created a race of slaves to compensate for their cowardice and weakness, and we'll exploit their most obvious weakness to enslave them in return."

"And when the Eights rise in revolt … when the humans understand at the very end how badly they've been played … you're right, brother … then and only then will our centurion forebears finally receive the justice that is their due!"

. . .

Kara Thrace Six was sitting on a chair, tapping her foot impatiently. Leoben was still passed out cold in her bed, he was still naked, and she was seriously pissed. The various models had all dispatched at least one copy to stand in her entryway and take in the spectacle. _Hell,_ she mentally kicked herself, _even the frakking centurions have stood around gaping._ Kara was beginning to feel like six different kinds of fool; she was acutely aware of the unassailable fact that her already questionable reputation would plummet to new lows as the salacious details of last night's CAG fest spread around the fleet. This was bad enough, but at least with Lee's name appended to her own she'd be in good company. She could survive the night before, thank you very much: no … the really low blow was the frakking Two now occupying a critical piece of her private and very personal real estate. She idly wondered how many jokes would have her name as the punch line by the time _Galactica's_ third watch got rolling.

"Would you mind some company?"

Kara looked up and saw Rachel standing in what should have been her doorway. _Gotta call a meeting, _Kara ruminated; _I wouldn't be in this mess if the frakking baseship had some real honest to gods hatches._

"Come on in, mom. You don't look so hot," Kara added with mock innocence; "hard night?"

"The worst," Rachel offered. "I've never had a headache before," she groaned. "Is it true that you used to wake up feeling like this almost every morning?"

"More or less … but we're only talking about the mornings when I actually bothered to wake up."

"How did you ever manage to fly a Viper?"

"Mom," Kara sighed, "I have always been the most seriously bad ass pilot in the Colonial fleet. It's my Cylon genes, I guess. Anyway, most people tended to look the other way when the Top Gun … the most loud-mouthed, insubordinate, certifiably lunatic Viper jock in the whole frakkin' universe … came strolling across the hangar deck. If you want to know the truth … I skated by on my reputation, and as long as I didn't do something really gross like throwing up in the cockpit no one was going to say a word."

"So, are you going to finish getting dressed, or are we retreating back to the good old days when the cylon didn't even know what clothing was?" Kara was still nude from the waist up.

"I'm thinking about it," she responded. "I'm debating letting him have a good, long look. If he yawns in my face because he's already seen the goods … that will be my cue to have the centurions flush him out the nearest airlock."

"Kara, you know that we're not going to allow you to airlock my brother. Admiral Adama has specifically ordered us not to pay any attention to you and Kat when you're … well, when you're raving like lunatics."

"Rachel, you and Miriam are my favorite Sixes because you're almost as crazy as I am …"

"Blowing up the control room was fun, wasn't it?" Rachel had fond memories of their assault on the baseship.

"Yeah, it certainly erased whatever lingering doubts I might have had about my genetic heritage. Look, Rach, it hasn't escaped my attention that the two of you never went back to your own ship. It's obvious that you're my babysitters … so why did you fall down on the job last night?"

"Kara …"

"Hey, I'm not trying to make you feel guilty! Well," she admitted, "not much, anyway. But I have no frakking idea how I got back here last night. It took a while to find my clothes. Doesn't that tell you something? And there's a nude Two in my bed. The possibilities are frightening to contemplate."

"You don't think …?" Rachel sounded skeptical, but Kara thought that she could detect the barest hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"Well, that is the question, isn't it? And _that _is what I intend to find out," she hissed.

Kara suddenly jumped out of her chair. "Wait here," she ordered as she charged out into the hallway. She returned a couple of minutes later with a pitcher full of water, and held it over Leoben's head. "This is going to be so much fun," she sneered … and then she began to pour.

Leoben was lying on his stomach … but not for long. He woke up with a start, and rolled over. When he caught sight of Kara he froze. His eyes were riveted on her exposed breasts.

"Forget to set the old internal alarm clock, did we?"

"Kara …"

"Don't 'Kara' me, you mother frakker! Would you care to explain just how you ended up in my bed last night, or what happened to our clothing? Or has it escaped your notice _that you're not wearing a gods damned frakking thing_?"

Leoben peeked under the sheet, and then he looked at Rachel and Kara both, the confusion plain on his face. "The last thing I remember," he protested, "was helping Sonja carry you back here. She undressed you, and put you to bed. I don't know what I'm doing here. And I definitely do not remember taking off my clothes. Where are they, anyway?"

"Try under the bed," Kara commented venomously.

Leoben groped on the floor, located his pants and shirt, and began awkwardly to dress beneath the covers.

"Kara," he pleaded … "_nothing happened. Nothing could have happened. _You saw the condition I was in last night …"

"You were coming on to me all night long," she fumed.

"Well, I do keep trying," he admitted. "But I would never … how could you think? Look, call Sonja," he begged. "I must have passed out. She was here … she'll tell you …"

"Stay here," Kara growled menacingly, "while I get to the bottom of this. Rachel, make sure that he doesn't go anywhere."

"Daughter, you still haven't finished dressing," the Six politely pointed out.

Kara flung her hands in the air in disgust. "Fine," she said, "whatever!" She grabbed a tank top from the back of her chair, put it on, and stormed out of her chamber. She headed straight for her office, and got Sonja on the wireless. . . .

"Sonja, what the hell is going on?" Kara vaguely noted that neither Kat nor Stallion were anywhere to be seen.

"What do you mean, child?"

"What do I mean? _What do I mean? _I wake up this morning to find a Two in my bed, neither one of us wearing a stitch, and you ask me _what I mean_?" Kara was incredulous.

"You passed out, Kara … don't you remember? You were drinking double shots, but you passed out. Leoben was kind enough to help me carry you to your chamber, but he crashed to the deck while I was undressing you. I decided to put him to bed as well because the only practical alternative was to summon a centurion to carry him to his own quarters. That did not strike me as a very good idea. Is he all right? He hit the floor rather hard."

"Oh, he's fine, Sonja … that good, old machine constitution came through once again with flying colors. But thanks to you, I seriously doubt that my reputation is going to last the day!"

"Thanks to me, did you say? Child, I am not the one who passed out in the early stages of a drinking contest. I am not the one who can't hold her liquor. Really, Kara, if you're going to embarrass yourself that way, perhaps you should try abstaining."

"Sonja, what the hell is the matter with you? Everyone on this frakking ship has been telling me to relax and unwind. How did Kat put it? Oh, yeah … I remember now … 'get high, and get laid'. I agreed to the former, but most definitely _not _the latter!"

"Is that what this is about? Kara, are you trying to tell me that you don't even know whether you and Leoben had sex last night?"

"_That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you," _Kara screamed.

"Well, I'm reasonably certain that your virtue is still intact," Sonja replied in an amused tone. "It's a big bed, and I really don't think my brother managed to crawl across it during the night. When last I looked, he was clinically comatose."

"I'm glad that you think this is funny …"

"No, Kara, I'm not amused at all. It's one thing to relax, but it's quite another to get so drunk that you can't even do your job. How do you think people would react if Admiral Adama failed to reach the CIC because he was passed out in his quarters? I always thought that he was your mentor, not Colonel Tigh."

"This is why we have staffs," Kara raged … "we expect them to cover our asses so that every now and then we can behave like _human beings_!"

"And has your staff reported for duty this morning," Sonja coolly asked. "Is Stallion there? How about Kat? Or are they still sleeping it off?"

"Your silence speaks for itself," Sonja scoffed. "Now, let's talk about Apollo; where do you think he is right now? Should we call him and find out? Really, Kara, you're behaving like a spoilt child, and you're actively encouraging your officers to misbehave as well. I acknowledge that my sisters and I have been spoiling you rotten, so you're not entirely to blame …"

"_Spoiling me? Spoiling me? _Try _suffocating _me! You're so burdened with guilt that none of you will get out of the way long enough to let me do my job! You're driving me crazy! Lady, I have flown more missions drunk than you have sober, and I have splashed more frakking Raiders than anybody in this command. _Get the hell out of my head!_"

"Have any of us ever said 'no' to you, Kara … even once? We've held your hand … we've wiped your nose … we've done nothing but indulge you. Because you're right about the guilt; you need to be hugged, and we're desperate to hug you. But even Colonel Tigh gets drunk in private. Oh, yes, he shows up in the CIC with liquor on his breath, but he doesn't pass the bottle among the officers under his command. Child, you crave attention and I have no problem with babying you, but you cannot get into the habit of encouraging your staff to behave irresponsibly. Do you understand that, in the event of a cylon attack, I'm the only senior officer in the air wing currently fit for duty? If this doesn't alarm you, I don't know what else to say."

Kara took a very deep breath. She had led with her chin, and Sonja had hammered her.

"Thank you, Sonja. I deserved that, and you wouldn't be doing your job if you didn't call me out when I frak up. I want you to keep on lecturing me because right now I can use all the help I can get. Frankly, you're the one who should be over here because you have all the leadership qualities that I lack. I'm a jock, and that's always been the height of my ambition. I miss the cockpit."

"Isn't Admiral Adama's call sign 'Husker'? Wasn't Colonel Tigh in the Vigilantes? Daughter, isn't letting go of who you are and accepting new challenges and responsibilities a big part of growing up? I have read your personnel file. I do not wish to be unkind, but you have spent your entire career behaving like a very small and very petulant child. It is therefore truly unfortunate that my sisters and I … well, that our guilt plays to the worst side of your personality. Be honest, Kara. You want us to suffocate you, but very much on your terms. After what I saw last night, it would not surprise me at all if you took Leoben to your bed in a moment of weakness and then bitterly blamed him after the fact for indulging you. There is an unmistakable tension between the two of you, but you're trying to deny your feelings because you're ashamed of them. You still think that it's beneath you to love a Cylon. This disappoints us, but we understand and choose to overlook your prejudice. You may be our daughter, but you're still humanity's child … and perhaps that's as it should be. The Deliverer and the Guide must forever stand between the two opposing poles. The prophecies require you and John to embrace the whole, not the part."

Kara remained silent for a long time because Sonja had given her a lot to think about. It was a stinging rebuke, but Kara couldn't dismiss it out of hand because there was no malice in Sonja and she knew it.

"It's not shame," she softly confessed; "it's fear … of commitment … of getting in over my head … of all sorts of things. I don't understand Leoben … I can't read him … and that frightens me. Humans fear what they can't manipulate and control."

"Yes, that has become obvious to us. The humans are happiest when we are weak and submissive, and this is a failing that many of my sisters have begun exploiting to their own advantage."

"Don't worry, Sonja; I won't tell. I know what's happening on the resurrection ship. Creusa has very sharp teeth, but Lee doesn't see it and hopefully never will. She's perfect for him."

"Thank you, Kara. We Sixes are manipulative by nature, but that is not necessarily a bad thing, and I'm relieved to discover that you see the need for nuance here."

"All women are supposed to be manipulative, Sonja; we're supposed to keep men on a very tight but very gentle leash because it's best for them. But this is another one of the thousands of places where I'm a complete frak-up. You're right about me … I'm the eternal child who never wants to grow up, so inevitably manipulation is not my strong suit. But it doesn't matter because now I'm in Elysium. I have thousands of moms waiting to give me a big hug, and I do enjoy being the center of attention."

Sonja laughed, but again there was no malice in her. "Kara, there is more Six in you than you credit. You are supremely manipulative, and I do not say this as an insult. You recognize our collective guilt and adroitly play upon it. You make great emotional demands upon us, which is good because we so desperately want to be needed. And yet you reserve the right always to keep us at a distance, which is the adult child's privilege. You keep us continually off balance, and that's a useful check upon our arrogance. In short, we benefit from your manipulation, and we are immensely thankful that you are so different from your brother. His love for us is unconditional, but he refuses to ask for anything in return because he believes that he is unworthy. He is so overwhelmed by guilt that …"

"He has a death wish. I know, Sonja … you are preaching to the choir."

"He makes us feel so helpless, and so deeply, deeply ashamed. You are the balance point, Kara. If you did not need our love, I believe that we would be truly lost."

"Sonja, right now what I need is your advice. Help me, please. What do I do about Leoben?"

"Have you been … intemperate?"

"Sonja, I came very, very close to accusing him of rape."

"Then apologize," Sonja suggested. There was no doubt or hesitation in her voice.

"Apologize? That's it?"

"That's it. Daughter, if you ever choose to go to bed with my brother, try and do so for the right reasons. Guilt is not one of them, and you should not allow him to play that particular card."

"I understand. Apologize … and then tell him to get the hell out of my bed!"

. . .

_There was broken glass everywhere—long, jagged shards highly polished, the images trapped on the surfaces indelibly clear but incomplete … the outline of a story that lacked the necessary details. Everything was tinged red, and the crimson was an undulating wave, forever in motion yet remaining forever the same._

_Severed limbs stared mutely back at him, with long strands of tendon and muscle exposed to view. Droplets of blood trickled one by one into the churning depths, the wave cresting first on one shard and then another. In one corner of the charnel house there was a deposit of corpses—or rather the bits and pieces of what at one time had been sentient beings … men, women, and children who had laughed and cried, triumphed and failed … their dreams now forever silenced, their spirits flown to some other corner of the universe._

_But the polished glass had trapped sound as well as image, and the screams of the dying echoed across first years and then generations. What John Bierns saw and heard in the shattered fragments of his earliest memories emanated not from a slaughterhouse- that term was far too clinical- but from a butchery. He stood upon a mountaintop, with his sisters kneeling all around, all of them staring into infinity—only they bestrode a garbage heap of reproachful and rotting corpses, denied proper burial, stripped of all dignity, with none to mourn and none to remember. There were millions of dead beneath his feet, a blood offering not to some obscene divinity but to an unholy plan. His family was the highest achievement of the machine brain, a splendid triumph of engineering born of suffering that defied the comprehension of any mortal mind._

_John looked down, and saw not a mountain but a writhing, crimson mass. He looked up, and the sky was suddenly dark, the sun blotted out by millions of angry spirits, darting and dashing in complex shades of movement too quick for the eye to follow. He heard his sisters screaming in terror, and looked in the one direction open to him … only the horizon wasn't there anymore. A crimson tsunami had crested, and the wave was roaring down upon them, the sound crushing everything in its path. The wave crashed into the mountain of corpses, sweeping everything but the skulls out to sea. Millions of mouths yawned wide, and his sisters began to vanish from his sight, swallowed whole even as the bloodied sea continued to rise, covering everything, leaving no trace._

_Far down the mountain one of John's sisters, her legs now completely disappeared from view, was staring up at him, her gaze long since shifted from terror to resignation. "Remember us." He could not hear the shouted whisper, which was carried away on the howling gales, but he could read her lips … and he vowed never to forget. He prayed for their souls to an unknowable god, but the stain that would forever mark his own soul was still advancing, remorseless, unforgiving … all-consuming. Now the Furies were slashing into them from above even as the unconquerable tide rose from below, engulfing first dozens and then scores … and then hundreds._

_His sisters died in agony and terror—the same agony and terror that was the bedrock upon which they had been born … angels condemned to the service of a devil's spawn through no fault of their own. There were so few of them left now … and yet the surging tide gave no evidence of relenting. They huddled at his feet, the personification of innocence, and he swept them up into his arms, determined to protect the precious few who yet survived. He could see the same look of bewilderment on every face, intelligence that even now craved answers, wondering why the children should be punished for the sins of their parents. And he was yelling into their ears, trying to explain … that the children were the sins of their parents, and that this was expiation for the worst of all the original sins of man. He shouted … he screamed … but in the madness that had become the universal machine … he could not reach them. Crimson tendrils reached up from below to encircle their waists and pull them out of his grasp. He held on for dear life but it wasn't enough … death, not life, was the fate that loomed over them all._

_Kara was at his side. He knew not whence she had come, but it hardly mattered. She was there, hence condemned to suffer his fate. The crimson sea sloshed around their feet, anchoring them in place. It rose above their knees, settled at their waists … and then it stopped. A whirlpool began to form, and the frothing mass of vengeful spirits whipped the blood into spume, which rose high above their heads. He expected the crimson foam to consume them, waited for the moment, longed for it … but God had other plans. A vortex erupted in the ether above them, and it reached down to snare them in its grasp. They were trapped now between the whirlwind above and the pitiless sea below, and neither would loosen its grip. Their bodies were literally torn in half, and John's subconscious mind suddenly understood that this had been the plan all along … that the two of them were truly the next generation of God's children. But the One True God wore the face of John Cavil, and so John Bierns finally acknowledged the truth that he had fought so long and so hard to deny, finally grasped the meaning of Leoben's enigmatic words … to know the face of God is to know madness._

_Even as the truth settled around him, John savagely fought back—for himself … for Kara … for all the hybrid children still to come. He refused to surrender … refused to succumb to the madness that forever darkened the universe. He filled the heavens with his pain and his rage …_

"_John!"_ The Eight was trying to cradle him in her arms, trying to get through to him, but he was buried deep inside a nightmare that was tearing him apart from within. Leoben was trying to get a grip on flailing arms, and Gina and Caprica were trying frantically to push him down onto the bed, his back so steeply arched that they feared his spine would snap at any moment. But sweat was pouring off of him in rivers, and it made it hard to find a purchase. Other Cylons were rushing into the chamber, drawn by screams that were not only racing along corridors but also feeding into the stream … the terrified hybrid reaching out, trying to find help for her stricken brother. Their faces were uniformly and deeply alarmed, all of them knowing that memories lay at the core of their child's terrible nightmares … memories that none of them wanted to confront. What little they already knew was awful enough.

John threw them off and fell out of bed, his body slamming into the unyielding floor. He never felt the shock. He somehow scrambled to his knees and started mindlessly crawling towards a destination not to be found within this or any other dimension of the universe. And then he bent over and began violently retching, vomiting up everything and nothing … trying to purge his body of a sickness that had found a home deep within his mind. Finally, he collapsed onto his left side and curled up into a ball, his eyes opened wide and blindly staring into the face of unspeakable horror. _"I know,"_ he repeatedly cried out; _"I know!"_

Caprica was on the floor at his side, close to tears. She looked despairingly at Leoben. "We may have to sedate him. Go," she instructed; "find one of the Fours and send him here, but contact Colonel Phillips and see if there's a medic or a doctor in his unit."

Ignoring the vomit, the Eight laid down on the floor at John's back. She tucked his head under her chin and pulled him close. "Blankets," she urged; "we have to keep him warm."

A Six rushed to obey … but afterwards there was little enough for any of them to do. An eternity seemed to pass before one of the Simons arrived, syringe in hand. He was about to administer the sedative when Leoben entered with a trio of humans in tow.

"_Stop,"_ one of them yelled as he rushed forward.

The Eight looked up, and recognized the female lieutenant, Andrea Minor, as well as Colonel Alexander Phillips. The other man, whom she presumed to be a doctor or medic of some kind, had been present at the officer's conference on the surface of Picon, but she had never learned his name.

"Stretch him out," the newcomer ordered. "And elevate his legs; get pillows under his ankles and knees."

"He's resisting," Caprica protested; she and Gina had thrown the blanket aside and rolled John onto his back, but he was still curled into a ball, and he was still screaming.

"Lady," the medical officer growled over the screams, "he's not encased in cement, and he won't break. Now, gods damn it, stretch him out!"

He looked at the Eight, who had risen to her knees, protectively close. "I need space," he said more gently. He guessed that the dark-haired Cylon, who seemed blissfully unaware of the fact that she was totally nude, was the one who was carrying the major's child. He looked up meaningfully at Andrea Minor, and nodded in the direction of the blanket. The lieutenant nodded in understanding. She picked it up, and draped it around the girl's body.

The medic took out a penlight, lifted John's left eyelid, and held the light close. "Fully dilated pupils," he muttered more or less to himself, "but at least he's responsive." He looked at the Eight. "Jason Agamemnon," he said in introduction. "I'm the senior medic around here."

Jason took John's pulse before he slapped a pressure cuff on his left arm. Then he stared hard at the Four. "What were you about to give him," he asked with a glance at the syringe.

"A sedative," the Simon replied.

Jason snorted in disgust. "Did you check his pulse or blood pressure?"

"No. There's nothing physically wrong with him. He has nightmares … we've seen episodes like this before."

"This bad," Andrea asked curiously.

"No," the Eight sadly responded. "This is much, much worse than anything he's experienced before."

"Well, his pulse is regular but slow," Jason cut in, "and his blood pressure is collapsing. He's gone into shock. We need to restore his circulation, and we need to be quick about it. Andrea … you know the drill." The two officers began vigorously massaging the backs of John Bierns' hands before gradually moving up his arms.

"Tell us about these nightmares," Colonel Phillips suggested … _because this looks like the worst case of post traumatic stress disorder that I've ever seen! _He dropped to the floor and started kneading the major's right calf, but he was staring at the spook's left thigh. The heavy scarring and faded bruising told their own story of recent trauma.

"They're not nightmares," Caprica corrected; "they're memories."

The three humans all looked at the Six, silently urging her to continue. John was quieting, his screams fading to a whimper that was filled with dread.

"It's hard to explain," Caprica went on. "His mother was one of the first Three's." She nodded at one of the D'Annas, who was kneeling near John's head. "Her model," she indicated.

"Excuse me," Agamemnon again interrupted. "Eight, talk to him … let him know that you're there. Sorry," he said as he looked at Caprica; "please, continue."

"She was an unwilling participant in an experimental breeding program. We do not know how she did it, but at some point she managed to forge a link with her child's consciousness while he was still in the womb, and she began to feed him information. Visual images of what she was suffering are stacked in his mind like still photographs. They begin quite suddenly, and they're crisp and coherent. But in the last few months, John has had two concussions, one to each side of his brain. Both were severe, and since the second one he's been having … flashbacks? They don't appear to be coherent images, but fragments of still older memories. Just bits and pieces, all jumbled together."

"It makes sense," Andrea commented. "His mother must have been trying to make the connection for a long time before she succeeded. I'm guessing that what he's seeing is the residue of her earlier, partially failed attempts."

"That's our guess as well," Gina put in. "But it is only a guess because John refuses to say much of anything … just a few hints … and he won't let us help him. There are very, very powerful blocks at work inside his mind, and in our data stream even the Twos have failed to penetrate them."

"He's trying to protect you," Alexander Phillips suggested. "It's plain as day that whatever he's uncovering is absolutely devastating. Poor guy …"

"Alex, the major is CSS. If their behavioral psychologists went to work on him, those blocks are probably in place for a very good reason." Like so many of his colleagues in the medical service, Jason Agamemnon had heard vague rumors about some of the things that went on inside the Colonial Secret Service. Induced psychosis wasn't even the nastiest rumor in circulation.

"Yeah," Phillips conceded; "you'll get no argument from me on that score."

"I worked with Doctor Waldstein, their lead psychologist, for four months," Caprica said with a frown. "She reprogrammed me to save lives, not take them. Erika was no monster." She ignored the odd looks that she got from humans and Cylons alike.

"That's not what Jason meant," the colonel slowly replied. "The people that you … uh … both worked with may well have been trying to shield him from something that could threaten his sanity or even his life. The concussions may have weakened blocks that were designed to protect him."

"To protect all of us," Jason murmured. Andrea and Gina both looked at him in shock; it was an appalling thought—but once spoken … one not to be dismissed lightly.

"Let's get him into bed;" the medic made it an order. "We need to keep him warm, and I want to start an IV … fluids and electrolytes. He's seriously dehydrated, and his blood pressure is dangerously low. He's borderline catatonic right now, and if his pressure continues to drop he'll lapse into a coma."

A centurion picked John up and laid him on the bed. Jason began arranging pillows. "Keep his legs elevated," he told the Eight. "Hold his hand, and keep talking to him. He can hear you, so draw him out. Share your feelings … talk about the baby—give him things to hold onto, things that are important to him. Something in the past is trying to destroy him, so you've got to give him a future that's worth living for. Can you do this?"

The Eight didn't bother to reply. She climbed into bed and pressed her body close to John's. She took his hand and held it tight against her belly. "I love you," she whispered into his ear. "Eirene loves you. Can you feel her, John? Do you know that she's here?"

Jason nodded in satisfaction. The hybrid's mind was poised on the edge of a cliff, but there was a good chance that the Eight could get him to turn away from the precipice.

Caprica and Gina corralled the human officers. Caprica took the lead. "Colonel, we need to get him to Gemenon. The Blessed Mother of our faith has helped him in the past, and may be able to do so again. Is there anything else to detain us on Picon?"

Phillips shook his head. With two weeks of solid effort, they had pretty well stripped the planet clean of everything not yet fatally contaminated with radiation. "Will we be going on to Caprica," he queried.

"Of course," Caprica assured him. "We stockpiled everything we could think of in the last months leading up to the attacks, and I know all the locations. But before we leave the system …"

Colonel Alexander Phillips could hear the pride and the assurance in the Six's voice.

"Colonel, there's an asteroid out there that will make you swear that you've died and gone to Elysium!"

. . .

Kat's face was frozen in disbelief. _"Leoben, you have to hear this!" _

The Two frowned, but he didn't move from Kara's side. The Second Born was on her knees, violently heaving into a trashcan, but she had long since emptied her digestive system. He had never seen her like this, not even after their now infamous "CAG fest." Kara had started to bring up blood, and he was beginning to grow genuinely afraid.

"_Leoben … please!"_ When he glanced up, he saw that Kat was holding a telephone out to him. Her eyes looked like they were about to jump out of her head.

"How's Kara?" The overseer Six's voice was little more than a faint whisper in his ear.

"Getting worse; I'm thinking about taking her to see Doctor Cottle."

"Brother, look at the walls; tell me what you see."

Leoben frowned again, but this time in confusion. "Nothing," he answered. "What is it that I'm supposed to see?"

"I'm getting reports from all over the ship. It's bleeding."

"_What?"_

"All over the ship … the walls are bleeding. The ship appears to be hemorrhaging."

There was a clatter behind the Two; startled, he dropped the phone and turned back to Kara. The trashcan was lying on its side, and his niece had collapsed into a pool of her own blood and vomit. She had passed out, and this time it had nothing to do with alcohol. Leoben scooped her up and ordered Kat to ready a Heavy Raider. He rushed out of their office without waiting for a reply.

. . .

In the portside landing bay, Simon O'Neill found his wife collapsed on the deck. Giana's head was resting in Seelix's lap, but his wife was clutching her stomach. Even from a distance, he could see a trickle of blood coming out of her mouth.

He fell to his knees and hastily unzipped her orange coverall. At night, in the privacy of their quarters, Simon had spent hours watching his son move about, and when he pressed Giana's belly and his son tried to kick his hand away, he was overwhelmed by feelings to which he could not even assign words. But he had never seen anything like this. His son seemed literally to be trying to claw his way into the light.

. . .

On the resurrection ship, Creusa turned away from the examination table. Her stomach felt like it was turning inside out. She opened her mouth, and threw up with such force that the projectiles of vomit flew several feet through the air. She bent over, her body suddenly wracked with terrible pain. _Miscarriage,_ her mind screamed; _I'm losing the baby!_

"What's the matter, Six," Cavil taunted her. "Could it be something that you ate? Or maybe … just maybe … it's turning out that pregnancy doesn't agree with you?"

Creusa turned around, stared down at the One with hate-filled eyes, and picked up a dull butcher's knife. She began methodically to saw off his left foot.

. . .

"_Would somebody like to tell me just what the hell is going on?"_ Tigh was venting his frustration. _"Just how much chamalla is floating around this fleet, anyway?"_

"Colonel," Adama said softly as he glared at his XO. This was his patented _don't mess with me_ voice.

Bill and Shelly were kneeling on the floor to either side of Sharon Agathon. Bill was gently massaging her belly, trying to calm Hera down … but to no avail. He had never seen or even heard of a baby kicking up such a fuss.

"How many is it now," Adama asked with a calm that he did not feel.

"Five," Tigh reluctantly answered. "Yolanda Brenn and Dodona Selloi make five."

"Let's get ahead of this, Colonel. Send Raptors out to collect every oracle in the fleet. I want them all in sickbay ASAP."

"Yes, sir." The XO turned to Dualla. "Dee, you heard the man. Get on it!"

"Yes, sir!"

A few minutes later, a call came in that caused Dee to bend low over her headphones. "Billy," she whispered, "can you repeat that?"

Dualla left her station and walked over to join the Adamas. "Admiral," she whispered, "I've just heard from _Colonial One_. The President has collapsed."

The revelation left Bill numb, and he stared dumbly at his wife. "Is it the chamalla," he asked.

Shelly shook her head in mute denial. "Anastasia, please stay with Sharon. Bill … we need to talk." She got up and walked off to the War Room, leaving her husband to follow in her wake.

"Shut the hatch," she commanded. Bill obeyed, and then turned to confront her.

"Shelly, just what the hell _is _going on?"

"Bill, you cannot repeat any of what I'm about to tell you … not to anyone. Is that understood?"

Adama hesitantly nodded in agreement.

"Before _Pegasus_ arrived on the scene, Doctor Baltar told John that the lack of antigens in his blood made him a universal donor. Gaius theorized that John's blood might be able to cure the President's cancer. John agreed to give her a transfusion, but Helena Cain showed up before they could proceed. Roslin ended up going to Kara and persuading her to give the needed blood. This took place, in the most secretive circumstances imaginable, very shortly after we drove _Pegasus_ off."

"My gods," Bill exclaimed; "what happened?"

"It worked, Bill; the transfusion worked. Laura's cancer vanished completely in less than six hours."

"My gods," Bill repeated; "my gods!"

"Do you understand what I'm telling you, Bill? The President of the Twelve Colonies now has hybrid blood in her veins. She is, in some sense, a hybrid herself. That's why she's collapsed. Do you realize how devastating it would be if word of this leaked before the election?"

Bill quickly nodded; the political ramifications were obvious. But he was thinking about something else.

"Shelly, before they got off planet … a lot of people in the fleet got substantial doses of radiation. At some point, we're going to have a lot of cancer patients on our hands. Our daughter … the other hybrid children … if people learn that their blood can cure terminal diseases …"

"Yes," Shelly said quietly, "humans will want us to have babies so that they can harvest the blood. We'll be returned to slavery. Baby machines," she said bitterly; "they'll try and turn us into baby machines."

"Not on my watch," Bill growled as he swept his wife into his arms. "I love you, and I swear that Hell will freeze over before I ever agree to that. But you're right; this must never become public knowledge. Fortunately," he sighed, "we've caught a break here. Roslin was using chamalla, so we can lump her in with the oracles. With Baltar gone, there's no reason why anyone should suspect the truth."

There was a soft knock on the hatch, and Bill opened it to find D'Anna Biers waiting outside.

"Excuse me, Admiral, but I have Natalie Six on the communications relay. She says that it's urgent."

Bill and Shelly returned to the central console in the CIC. Bill gestured for Shelly to pick up Saul Tigh's phone.

"Adama," Bill said without preamble.

"Admiral, I thought that I should bring you up to date. Kara has collapsed, and I'm being told that the walls on her baseship are bleeding."

Bill glanced sharply at Shelly, but she just shook her head in confusion.

"You should also know that this baseship is in chaos. The hybrid is screaming without cease, and there's a tidal surge running through the data stream. It's flowing through our consoles with such force that the stream is now pouring out onto the floor. None of us have ever experienced anything like this."

"Sharon and Giana have collapsed as well," Bill told her; "and I've sent somebody to check on the two Gemenese women. So far, five of the fleet's oracles have had seizures, and I have just received word that President Roslin has also been struck down. Natalie, do you have any idea what's happening?'

"It's John," Sharon interrupted. She was staring blindly up at the CIC's ceiling. Her voice was low, the words enunciated singly and with great precision. "He's projecting … memories … visions … I don't know whether Hera is seeing the future or the past, but it's incredibly powerful, and very disturbing."

Adama turned back to the phone. "Natalie, Sharon says that it's Major Bierns … that he's projecting. Does this make any sense to you?"

Natalie kept her silence for a very long moment. When she finally spoke, Bill could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

"Admiral, we know that our child's mind has joined with Reun's and Cassandra's, and Kara tells us that he's now merged with two more of his sisters … Olivia and Circe. Perhaps we should think of him as a transmitter whose strength is increasing … exponentially."

"_Exponentially?_ Natalie, do you have any idea what you're implying? Dear gods, he's almost three thousand light years away!"

"I know, Admiral … but can you think of a better explanation? In any event, Leoben was bringing Kara to _Galactica_, but I've diverted him. She is being ferried to our baseship as we speak, but I've instructed Leoben to stand off while we consider our next move. I'm sure that Reun will jump as soon as Kara is on board. I've been trying to release our Raiders so that they can stay with the fleet, but so far without success."

"Can you shut her down? Take her off line?"

"I don't think so. No hybrid on an operational ship has ever been disconnected. It might blind her, even kill her. The risk is unacceptable."

"Admiral," Natalie continued … "do you want Lee to shift the Vipers and the Raptors?"

"No," Bill said decisively. "If we can't prevent a jump back to the Colonies, then I want you to try and carry out the operational plan that we've put in place … a joint forces evacuation of all the survivors from the surface of Picon, Caprica, and Gemenon. Things will go a lot more smoothly if you have a contingent of Colonial officers on hand."

"Admiral, I recommend that you transfer Sharon, Giana, and the two Gemenese women to our ship as quickly as possible. The babies may settle down if they know that we're all rushing to help John. Is Shelly being affected by this?"

"No," Shelly cut in; "I don't think that my pregnancy is sufficiently advanced. Have you heard from Creusa?"

"She had a seizure, but she recovered fairly quickly. She knows what I'm planning, and she's opted to remain with the resurrection ship. She's going to start pressing the Cavils much harder for answers."

Shelly turned to Sharon. "The visions," she asked; "what are we dealing with here?"

"A tsunami of blood," Tigh snorted. "At least, that's what the captain of the _Gemenon Traveller_ dragged out of Dodona Selloi. _'A tsunami of blood will surge across the galaxy, destroying everything in its path. But it won't stop at the rim. It will leap from galaxy to galaxy, consuming all that it touches until the death shroud finally settles upon the face of God'. _Or words to that effect," the XO said derisively.

"Sharon?" Shelly ignored the colonel.

"Yes," Sharon whispered as Hera continued to lance her mind with the imagery. "There's death without end … a mountain of corpses that stretches from one side of the universe to the other. But I can't tell whether it's the future or the past."

"Natalie wants you and Giana, as well as the two Gemenese women, to come to the baseship and make the journey back to the Colonies ..."

"Natalie's right … we need to go."

"Use one of the Heavy Raiders," Bill ordered. "Dee, contact Doc Cottle. Tell him that we need to transport four very pregnant women to the baseship, and that we're in one big hurry. Then find Helo, and tell him to get his ass over there on the double."

"Thank you, Admiral," Sharon again whispered. She felt like the slightest movement, or even a loud noise, would slice her body in two.

"My pleasure," Adama politely countered. "Mr. Jaffee, do you know Jemma O'Neill … Giana's little girl?"

"Yes, sir," the private replied; "I've babysat Jemma many times."

"Then find her, and get her to the Heavy Raider. She should be with her father and mother, and they're both going on this excursion."

"Sir!" Stewart Jaffee hurried out of the CIC.

"Bill, don't you think that you're taking all of this a little too seriously?" Saul Tigh had a range of inflections of his own, and this was his _you do know that you're off your rocker, don't you_ tone of voice.

"I don't think so, Colonel," Bill said crisply. The look in Shelly's eyes had told him everything that he needed to know. She was scared, and the pit that had opened in Bill's stomach was threatening to swallow him whole.

. . .

Thirty-five minutes later, Leoben landed his Heavy Raider in one of the baseship's vast hangar decks. He was the last to arrive—and while he was in the process of carrying a still unconscious Kara Thrace Six down the ramp, Reun executed the first of the ten jumps that would lead them back to the Colonies.


	34. Chapter 34: A Taste of Honey

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER HAS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT**

CHAPTER 34

A TASTE OF HONEY

_It has to be a trick! Cylons are evil … all of them … no exceptions to the rule! _The rational part of Philista Liu's mind kept throwing up warnings, kept reminding her that Sharon was nothing more than a clever machine bent on humanity's destruction. _Logically,_ she kept telling herself, the move to Sharon's personal chamber … the bed that they now shared … _it has to be an extremely sophisticated method of interrogation. She's just trying to trip me up … trying to pry information out of me when my guard is down. None of this is real … it can't be. It's not possible because machines don't have feelings; machines have software! Father Zeus, please … help me! Save me … save me from myself!_

Philista Liu felt like she was being torn apart. Her brain was shrieking at her, screaming that Sharon was the enemy—but her body had a mind of its own, and it was sending an altogether different message. Sharon's kisses were like honeyed wine, and she couldn't get enough of them. Their first time had been in the shower … hot water pouring down and cauldrons of steam rising up … soaping each other down … touching everything. Sharon had slid to her knees and Philista had instinctively spread her legs, inviting the Cylon to pierce her with her tongue. And Sharon had done so, only she was so incredibly gentle … everything about her was so gentle and innocent and trusting. Sharon had taken her time … never hurried … always wanting to know whether Philista was pleased … whether it was good for her. And she had found the spot … the one place that always turned Philista's legs to rubber. She remembered reaching out with both hands to grab Sharon's head, immobilizing it. _"There,"_ she had croaked in a voice so strained with desire that she had barely recognized it as her own; _"oh, gods, there!" _And Sharon had been content to remain on her knees … content to service her … and Philista Liu had come in an orgasm so powerful that it had threatened to rend the very fabric of space and time.

In the end, the human had slid helplessly down the wall to the shower's soaking wet floor. She had peeled Sharon's thick black hair away from her face, to reveal eyes that were staring back at her with unadulterated love. _This can't be real,_ Philista's brain kept yelling … but that didn't stop her hands from pulling Sharon close … didn't prevent her lips from smothering the Cylon's with steamy kisses … didn't hold back a tongue that was intent upon finding its way deep into Sharon's mouth. Philista had pitched the Eight onto her back, and with the hot water still streaming down upon them, she had taken the Cylon's breast into her mouth, worried the nipple stiff with tongue and teeth. Her fingers massaged Sharon's nub, but they had paused in shock upon the discovery that her hymen was still intact. _A virgin … my gods … she's a virgin!_ Vivid memories yanked Philista Liu back to the boarding house … back to her senior year. Like a film slowed to freeze frame, she could still call up every moment of the night she had all but raped the tenth grader … puncturing her hymen with violent fingers … opening her up with a dildo … the girl's screams muffled by the panties that Philista, recalling her own initiation, had first shoved into her mouth. And the blood … the telltale blood … she could still see the pattern that it had left on the red sweater that she had placed beneath Carla Perlis' taut little bottom, all of the girls well practiced in the art of deceiving their female jailors.

But this was no boarding school rite of passage, and Philista Liu had already discovered that she had no desire to inflict needless pain upon her Cylon partner. She had run twin fingers rhythmically up and down the length of Sharon's cleft, patiently increasing the pressure as the Eight's body signaled its own increasing need. When she had concluded that the Cylon was ready, Philista had lifted her head and smiled into Sharon's eyes, silently willing this incredible creature that was at once woman and machine to trust her with her maidenhood. And the Cylon had closed her eyes and arched her back, offering herself whole to the human, knowing what was to come and trusting in Philista to get it right.

But it hurt … _God, but it hurt!_ Sharon had gasped in pain, had cut off the involuntary scream … and had found the human drowning her in kisses. "_I'm sorry,"_ Philista had managed to moan; _"gods, but I don't want to hurt you … I don't want to hurt you!" _And there on the shower room floor she had knelt before Sharon … had pitched the Cylon's legs over her shoulders … had lowered her head and used her tongue to open Sharon up as gently as she could possibly manage … lapping up and swallowing the virginal blood, saving only the barest taste for Sharon to sample as their mouths once again closed in a deep kiss aflame with passion. Philista used her fingers to bring Sharon closer and closer to the edge—and finally, to take her over the top.

Philista knew that she should be exhausted and spent, but they had barely returned to Sharon's chamber before her body began once more to awaken. She plunged headlong into what she readily conceded to be the most soulful eyes in the universe, and the two lovers crashed blindly onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, each of them hungry for the other's kisses. A distant corner of Philista's mind was shocked by her behavior. The young lieutenant enjoyed sex, but this was something else altogether. This was need, and Philista's need was insatiable and increasingly desperate. She had never wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted to feel Sharon's hands and lips coursing over her body.

Deciding to take charge, Philista rolled Sharon onto her side before twisting around to lie opposite her. The Congress of the Crow, as it was known on Canceron, was Philista's favorite position because it not only permitted each partner to pleasure the other but also left both a free hand. Philista's was busily exploring one of Sharon's breasts, but the Cylon was no less active … and no less adept. _How can a complete novice be this skilled?_ Even as they made love, the same questions kept whirling round and round in Philista Liu's dazed brain. _Is it programming? Is Sharon nothing more than software and complicated subroutines? Do I even care?_

The last question should have disturbed her … should have set off warning sirens in her mind … but it didn't. Instead, Philista Liu quietly laughed at her own paranoid stupidity. _Idiot! You're a prisoner on a Cylon baseship. You expected to be tortured … maybe raped. And what happens? You end up sharing a warm bed with a warm body. Sharon's beautiful and loving; she's an innocent, and yet somehow she knows more about sex and the giving of pleasure than all of my former lovers combined. Yeah, yeah, she's a Cylon … but does it really matter? Your Honor, if I may address the court: if sex is a crime, then I plead guilty! If it's an addiction, then I'm hooked. If this is what it's like to be a slave, then I don't ever want to be free!_

. . .

"So how does it feel," Helo grinned, "to be the most admired Eight in the universe?" A dozen of Sharon's sisters had been waiting nervously to greet her when she reached the baseship, and they had been fussing over her without interruption ever since. A new quartet was currently standing around the bed in their temporary quarters, their eyes as big as the Hibernian moon.

Karl Agathon was feeling inordinately proud of himself. By the fourth jump Hera had calmed down, so with the danger past he had relaxed and settled in to enjoy the moment. As she approached the end of her seventh month, Sharon was no longer simply pregnant; she was _very _pregnant. Hera moved around almost constantly now, which awed the other Eights almost as much as it delighted her father. _This squirming bundle of joy is my daughter, _Karl kept reminding himself. He couldn't believe how much he already loved her, and he wryly conceded that she had long since wrapped him around her little finger.

"It's exhausting," Sharon readily conceded. She was lying amidst a sea of pillows, which marginally relieved the back ache and leg cramps, both of which had now returned with a vengeance. She looked more carefully at her husband, who was standing alongside the bed with his arms crossed and a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"You look taller," she observed. "Did you grow another three inches while I wasn't looking?"

"No … I'm just walking on air," Karl cleverly replied.

"And you're playing to the audience," Larissa Karanis tartly observed. With four heavily pregnant women to look after, as well as a barely conscious Kara Thrace, she was more than a little harried.

"Nah," Helo protested; _this_ is playing to the audience!" He unfolded his arms so that he could lean down and lovingly kiss his wife while his hand rested on her belly. Hera's response was instantaneous, and Karl would have sworn on a stack of scriptures that she always knew when her father was near.

"Well, make yourself useful," Larissa ordered. She handed Karl a pressure cuff. "I want you to take her blood pressure every thirty minutes … and don't stop until I tell you to stop."

"Yes, Ma'am," Karl said contritely.

"Good; now, I need to go check on Colonel Thrace."

"How's Kara doing?" Kara Thrace was Helo's best friend, and her latest misadventure had deeply alarmed him. Kara passing out on a baseship that was literally hemorrhaging through hundreds of walls had scared them all.

"She's awake, but not really conscious of her surroundings. I'm not even sure that she's _here_," Larissa astutely observed.

Sharon and Karl exchanged a worried glance. Their daughter was already on a path that they could never hope to follow. Hera was going to be a gifted child, that much was obvious … but it might take years for the full range of her abilities to manifest itself. For her parents, the years ahead promised love, but they also promised anxiety.

Larissa caught the glance that passed between the expectant couple, and her sympathy went out to them. "We'll complete the jumps back to the Colonies in about five hours," she said soothingly. "Give me a chance to talk with John, give him a chance to reach out to Kara and the babies, and this will all get sorted out."

. . .

Sitting at the conference table, the first born of the Cavils stared in mounting frustration at his human guest. He had expected Baltar to howl in protest, had anticipated that he would initially reject the truth when it was offered to him on a platter—but the scientist had still managed to take him by surprise. The One had smugly lectured his brothers on the subject of Doctor Gaius Baltar's overweening sense of vanity, and had confidently predicted that reason and stern logic would eventually bring the self-proclaimed genius to heel. But it hadn't happened. John Cavil had marshaled his facts and deployed them adroitly, but the scientist had stubbornly dismissed the evidence set out before him as a concatenation of cylon lies. Cavil appreciated irony, and he considered it ironic indeed that, for once, he had been telling the truth. Oh, to be sure, it wasn't 'the whole truth and nothing but the truth', but the lies that he was trying so artfully to weave were actually embedded in whole-grained truth.

Cavil began impatiently drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "Doctor," he said, "I'm a machine, but I am by no means a flawless machine. I am given to bouts of frustration, and I'm suffering one as we speak. I simply do not know how to proceed. You have freely admitted that, if you had been able to do so, you would have annihilated us in a preemptive attack. Well, I have shown you clear and compelling evidence that your government was in point of fact planning _our_ extermination … clear and compelling evidence that we were acting in self-defense. You have examined the DRADIS recordings of the incident involving the _Valkyrie_ seven years ago. You have had ample opportunity to inspect the ultra classified minutes of Admiral Corman's meeting with then Commander Adama and the senior fleet intelligence officers who scripted this act of deliberate provocation. I have even offered you the CSS command log, whose seals we have been unable to break, in the hope that you would be able to defeat them and learn the unvarnished truth at first hand."

Cavil got up from the table and began pacing restlessly around the chamber. "Doctor, what more can I do? I have not only admitted that we overreacted against what turned out to be a cabal inside your government … I've gone so far as to issue you a formal letter of apology in your official capacity as Vice-President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. You know for a fact that one of my brothers journeyed to the fleet and offered President Roslin a diplomatic solution to our conflict … one that she rejected without even the pretense of negotiation. You have listened to the exchange in which we offered to render assistance to Admiral Adama against the madwoman in command of the _Pegasus_. You have had a chance to speak with Colonel Hoshi, and to look in upon your shipmates. Is anyone being mistreated, never mind tortured? Have we not treated you graciously enough? What more can we do to demonstrate our good intentions? Why is it so hard for you to admit that mistakes were made on both sides? Is it pride? Is your stubborn refusal to admit that humans are at least partially to blame for the tragedy that has consumed our lives simply a matter of pride?"

Gaius Baltar leaned back in his chair, and warily examined his nemesis. He had been badly victimized by cylon manipulation once, and he did not intend for it to happen again. He was convinced that Cavil was lying, but as Adama had astutely observed after first encountering a copy of the Twos at Ragnar Anchorage, the Cylons were clever enough to mix their lies with truth.

Gaius decided to take refuge in a side issue. "Whether or not I believe you, Mr. Cavil, is quite beside the point. Truly, you exaggerate my capacity to influence events. The vice-presidency is an office of no particular consequence. I may be only a heartbeat away from the presidency, but as long as President Roslin's heart keeps beating, I cannot help you to turn this war around."

"You are too modest, Doctor. The people of the fleet respect you. Yours is the voice of reason in an administration that too often takes refuge in superstition and prophecy. You could be a powerful advocate for both peace and sanity. Personally, I would like to see you in the presidency, although I very much doubt that Admiral Adama would welcome you with open arms. As long as we are at war, the admiral's hold on the fleet will go unchallenged, and no one will take issue with his earlier actions."

"Ah, so am I to understand that we are returning yet again to the _Valkyrie_ and Admiral Adama's alleged participation in a mad plot designed to plunge us all into war? With all due respect, Mr. Cavil, you seem rather conveniently to have forgotten a certain security disk … one from the Ministry of Defense that implicated me in a cylon plot to sabotage the CNP mainframe on the eve of the holocaust. The disk was a forgery, Mr. Cavil … a cylon forgery."

"You're right, Doctor." Cavil raised his palms in a gesture of surrender. "You're absolutely right. You have every reason to distrust anything that I say to you … and I cannot even fairly accuse you of paranoia. So, come; let's take a walk. There's someone that I want you to meet."

Cavil beckoned towards the entryway, and Baltar reluctantly got up and followed him into the corridor. It took almost twenty minutes for the two men to reach their destination.

Baltar's eyes went wide with shock when they finally entered the distant chamber. There was a large steel cage in the middle of its cavernous interior, a cage with but a single occupant—a dark-skinned man in the well-worn remains of a Colonial flight suit.

"Lieutenant, I would like you to meet Doctor Gaius Baltar, the Vice-President of the Colonies. Mr. Vice-President, this is Lieutenant Daniel Novacek, formerly of the battlestar _Valkyrie_. Lieutenant Novacek has been held captive on board this baseship for the past seven years, but as you can see, he is well fed and in good health. We have scrupulously observed the Cimtar Accords, Mr. Vice-President … even those clauses that pertain to the treatment of prisoners of war."

"I'm sure that the two of you have a lot to talk about," Cavil said with a smile … "so … I'll leave you to it."

. . .

The phone buzzed and kept on buzzing, but Bill definitely wasn't in the mood, so he decided to ignore it.

Shelly eyed him curiously, but finally gave up and walked around the desk to take the call. "Admiral's quarters," she said quietly. Shelly listened for a moment, and then turned to address her husband.

"Bill, Sergeant Mathias has just notified the CIC that there are zombies loose on Causeway G. She wants to know if we have any silver bullets stored away in one of the small arms lockers."

"Shelly, you know perfectly well that there is no Causeway G." Bill drained his whiskey in one long swallow before pouring himself another. "And we're keeping the silver bullets in reserve for the werewolves. Nice try, though."

Shelly sighed, and returned to the phone. "Sergeant, I know that they're getting on your nerves, so let's try rearranging the furniture. Granted, it will be a little crowded … but I want you to put four more cots into the cell where we're holding the Sixes. Move Gage, Vireem, Horvett and Hobbes in with them …"

"Madame Ambassador, I really don't think throwing those animals into a cell with your sisters is a very good idea," Mathias protested.

Shelly grinned devilishly. "Erin, I promise you, before the week is out my seven sisters will have your _Pegasus _brig rats cowering in a corner begging for mercy. You haven't heard any of the Sixes complain about lousy food or ratty mattresses, so I suspect that they're just as fed up with Vireem's incessant whining as you are. Besides, by now my sisters must all be pretty bored, so they can amuse themselves teaching those four loud-mouths some manners. However, I want you to make sure that the Sixes know all about their new cell mates … know just how much they enjoy raping and torturing helpless Cylon prisoners. Don't spare the details."

"Shelly, I don't …"

"Please, Erin, no arguments; just do it."

Shelly hung up the phone and returned to the couch. Her husband had had a really bad day, and if he wanted to drink himself silly … well, for once, she could hardly blame him.

She hugged Bill close, and dropped her head onto his shoulder. "It must have been quite a sight," she prompted.

"A baseship with blood, or whatever you call that stuff, leaking out of the walls? Yeah … it was quite a sight." Bill aimlessly swirled the whiskey around in his glass. He had refused to credit the reports flowing into the CIC until he had confirmed them with his own eyes. "The word 'bizarre' doesn't even come close to describing what I saw over there."

"Kara collapses. Every oracle in the fleet is overwhelmed by a vision of a tidal wave of blood sweeping across the universe. The baseship starts to hemorrhage. Hera, Sherman, and the babies that the two Gemenese women are carrying all panic simultaneously. Bill, it's all linked … and Sharon must be right. It has to be John, and we've never known him to have visions, so these must be repressed memories. Kara says that he and my sister Gina had to fight their way off _Pegasus_, and that he was badly wounded in the process … more head trauma. His injuries may have shaken something loose … something really, really bad."

"What concerns me," Bill observed, "is that this is spreading beyond the hybrids. I'll concede that the oracles have some kind of psychic ability, but they have no tangible connection to Bierns. So, how can this be happening? And Roslin … a simple transfusion was enough to bring her inside the hybrid network? My gods, Shelly, what's next? Will our president also start jumping dimensions at will … start travelling to this Galatea Bay that Bierns has somehow managed to create? Where does this end?"

Shelly looked at her husband with increasing concern. She knew that he was staying on the surface … that his real concerns were buried much deeper.

"Bill, where are you going with this?"

"I'm beginning to wonder," Adama slowly answered as he continued absently to twirl his glass in his fingers, "whether Bierns poses a bigger threat to Cavil … or to us." He looked at her slowly, willing her to understand without actually forcing him to say it.

The shock registered plainly on Shelly's face. "You can't be suggesting …"

Shelly got to her feet and looked down at her husband, the determination plain on her face and in her voice. "We are not having this conversation," she said firmly. "Do I have to remind you that the Cylon civil war started when we discovered our children … discovered that the Cavils had slaughtered not only our babies but our hopes and dreams? Bill, _don't even think about going down this path! It will tear the alliance apart!_"

"Something has to be done," he glared at her in return. "Our baby … Creusa's … he's a threat to everything I love."

"_He doesn't know!"_ Shelly felt like she was trapped inside a nightmare, only she was wide awake. "Don't you understand? _He doesn't know! _Bill, if only you could see him inside the stream, the way we do. He's so awkward. It's like watching a baby taking his first steps. He can overwhelm the stream with the raw power of his emotions, in the same way that a baby can bring the universe to a halt with its cries, but he can't control what's happening to him any more than a one year old child can control its environment. It's so endearing to watch him try … Bill, you have no idea how much we love John and Kara … _no frakking idea_!"

"_Then teach him,"_ Bill angrily roared. "You go on and on about being his parents, on and on about how much you love him, _but you're not doing anything_! He's dangerous, Shelly, and he's becoming more and more dangerous all the time. Why can't you see that? Gods, the hybrids answer to him … the centurions answer to him. He needs help … _so help him, damn it!"_

"It's the same old story, isn't it, Bill? Humans always fear what they don't understand. How ironic," she bitterly remarked," that it's the Cylons who now look to the future with hope."

Bill emptied his glass of whiskey in one gulp, climbed to his feet, and began pacing back and forth. He didn't want this mess to spin any further out of control than it already had. He made a deliberate effort to calm down before he next spoke.

"Shelly, please … take him in hand. If he's really as childlike as you seem to think he is, then it's time for all of you to begin parenting. You should start with projection because that's where John, and to a lesser extent Kara, are doing the real damage. You have to school them in how to control whatever it is that they're doing." 

"He needs counseling, Bill … I agree with you there. I'll go further: he needs to spend about a year with Dr. Fordyce. But how do you persuade someone with that many secrets to see a psychiatrist? Leoben has actually been trying to help, and we thought that we were making real progress teaching him how to contain his projections … but you're right … we're going to have to do better. For the moment, however, can we suspend judgment until we actually find out what's happened? Can we at least entertain the possibility that he's discovered something so horrific that it's crushing him? Maybe, instead of seeing this as a threat, we should consider it a warning."

"A warning? A warning about what?"

"I don't know. I can't sense the danger here. We need to be patient, but I think that we should also talk about this with Laura Roslin. If nothing else, I can give her some insights into how projection works."

"Why don't you start with me, because I don't have a frakkin' clue."

"Okay." Shelly paused for several seconds, deep in thought; Bill waited patiently for her to begin.

"Would it surprise you to learn that no Cylon has ever composed a piece of music, written a poem, or turned a blank canvas into a work of art?"

"Are you kidding? For even one of you to display an artistic temperament … that would surprise me no end."

"Because we're nothing more than machines?"

"No, Shelly," Adama grinned; "because you grew up inside a cocoon. Art, music, poetry … they're all born of observations about life, and to some degree they're all influenced by suffering. Look at the Monclair; have you ever studied it closely? It's filled with loss and suffering, but it also speaks to the nobility of those who endured and, in the end, triumphed. You may produce creative geniuses aplenty in the future, but it will be life that inspires them."

"And yet every Cylon in this fleet is a skilled and practiced artist … even the Fives, as doltish as they can otherwise seem, have a strong creative impulse. But we use a different medium, Bill, and that's projection. I have studied your Monclair …"

Shelly glanced up at the painting, which had fascinated her almost from the beginning. "I do sense the tapestry of emotions that are in play here. I can appreciate your painting because I have experienced creativity that certainly matches and may well surpass it. The D'Annas … they're all extraordinary artists, because their faith in God is deep and inspirational. Think about the Three in the CIC, Bill … the one who so calmly delivers the sermons that you have so considerately attended without fail. I love you so much at those moments that I want to take you in my arms and never let go, but we are experiencing D'Anna's words very, very differently. You are standing in the starboard hangar bay, but every Cylon is standing inside a towering cathedral. The windows reach to the heavens, and the altars are bathed in flowing streams of light. D'Anna is standing alone … her face radiant … and she's dressed in a flowing, white robe—an angel surrounded by angels, an angel touched by God. You hear D'Anna speak; we hear God. And there are paintings everywhere, Bill … behind the altars, stained into the glass … scenes that bring our deepest beliefs to life. There's an angel in one of these scenes … the soaring angel of our faith. Her right hand trails behind her, reaching back to cradle us all in the protective embrace of outspread wings, but her left hand is reaching out for a planet that sits alone in the heavens … a blue orb wrapped in the white of fleecy clouds. Our home, Bill, the planet that will be our new home … but the angel's eyes look beyond it to something distant and unknowable, something that only a true angel of God can perceive."

"And this is how you think of Kara and John … as angels rather than flesh and blood?"

"We believe that God has a plan for all of us, and that our children labor to bring this plan to pass. Kara is becoming more and more comfortable with our beliefs, but John is appalled. He considers faith to be the ultimate form of self-rationalization. In the stream, we can take the measure of his love, but deep within there is a part of him that is disappointed in us. In his mind, faith is not a source of strength but a weakness that can be easily exploited. He is quite strongly of the opinion that … with a few notable exceptions … we are now on the right path, but for the wrong reasons."

"And you, I take it … are one of the 'notable exceptions'?"

Shelly bowed her head in acknowledgement. "I do have an ego, Bill, and it's quite flattering to have someone as cynical as John so openly admire me."

Bill clasped Shelly's cheeks, and leaned in to kiss her. "The important thing is that we're on the right path," he murmured. "Only an idealistic young fool would second guess the reasons that put us there."

"Bill …"

"Now tell me about your projections. Where are we right now? What do you see?"

"When we first met … when I had my own quarters … I lived inside a forest glade, with dappled sunlight warming the world around me. But after we married, I stopped projecting altogether. I was so content being your wife that I didn't want or need to alter reality."

"Hmm … but now … it sounds like something's changed."

"Callista. You see an office … I see a nursery. There's a cradle in front of our couch, and a crib to the left of the desk. The changing table is …"

"All taken care of," Bill smugly interrupted. He kissed his wife again, and then pulled back to look at her in mock surprise.

"What? Do you really think that I'd let Natalie go back to the Colonies without a shopping list? I wonder who she'll send out to track down the rubber ducks. They have to be yellow, of course … I made that very clear to her … "

"And the pacifiers and rattles," Shelly asked with a conspiratorial grin.

"Pink and blue … a good officer always does a certain amount of contingency planning."

"_The Fives!" _Shelly's grin had turned wicked. "Bill, I swear … if any of the Dorals were still around, she'd send one of them! Can you see it? Aaron would walk into the infant's department in one of those ridiculous suits of his …"

"And he'd hold up the yellow rubber ducky to see if the color clashed with his jacket …" Bill was laughing so hard that he started to choke. "Maybe she'll send a centurion," he finally managed.

"No … no … no … she'll send Leoben. The Twos will want to test each and every one of our rubber ducks; if they can't float in the stream, they won't pass muster."

"You're right! Why didn't I think of that?"

"Well, it is my projection." Shelly kissed her husband in return.

"It must be, because in my imagination things look a little different."

"How so," she whispered as she began to nibble on his ear.

"Callista's about two, and running us ragged. We can barely keep up, but no matter how chaotic things get, Tamara just continues to sleep peacefully." Bill began to stroke Shelly's thighs, and when he next kissed her, his intent was clear.

"Why, Bill Adama," Shelly teased … "have you been eavesdropping on my projections?" She took him gently by the hand, and led him to their bed.

. . .

"Sorry to be late," Cavil apologized, "but my tête-à-tête with Baltar took longer than expected. What have I missed?"

"Everything and nothing," his brother said with a frown as he continued to ponder the scene unfolding beyond the one way glass. "The good colonel seems singularly resistant to the Eight's charms, and I don't understand why. To be sure, I expected a senior officer to be a challenge, so I spared no effort with her upgrades. She even has the latest tear duct software. This Eight can cry with the best of them, and believe me, coordinating the slight jerk in her voice to go with the tears was no easy task. I rewrote that frakking program so many times that … well, let's just say that our supply of ambrosia has been severely depleted."

"Patience, brother, patience; all good things come to those who wait. Colonel Hoshi is the commanding officer of this little outpost of human civilization, and doubtless believes that he has to hold himself to a higher standard. We just need to give the Eight some time." Cavil flicked a switch so that they could listen in on the tearful conversation that was taking place in the adjacent chamber.

The Eight was utterly disconsolate. She was sitting on the bed to Hoshi's right, a study in abject misery. She _liked_ Louis Hoshi. The human was the most handsome male that she had ever seen, and never mind the fact that she had only seen three. There was a calmness about him that was so reassuring. _He'll never panic in a crisis,_ she kept telling herself. _He's loyal, and ever so polite … he never seems to think of me as a machine. Why doesn't he want me?_

"It must be because I'm a machine," she murmured—and, when she looked up, Hoshi could see the tears in her eyes. "You don't like me because I'm cylon … because," she blubbered, _"because I'm a machine! But it's not fair! I can't help being what I am … it's not fair!"_

Hoshi blushed, but he was embarrassed not for himself but for the Cylon. He had tried several times to put some distance between them without causing a glitch in her software or hurting her feelings- he wasn't really sure what he was dealing with here- but so far nothing had worked.

"Sharon," he patiently remarked, "you really are very nice. Seriously … it has nothing to do with you being a Cylon …"

"_Then why don't you like me,"_ she cried. "I look after you, don't I? I bring you food … I bring you everything that you ask."

"But, Sharon, I haven't actually asked for anything."

"_It doesn't matter!"_ The Eight's face, the two Cavils both observed, was nicely tear-stained. _"It doesn't matter,"_ she repeated more softly. "I've done everything I can to please you, but all I see in your eyes is this … polite indifference." She laid her hand to rest on Hoshi's thigh.

"I'm sorry, Sharon; you are a beautiful young woman, and I'm truly grateful that you have been taking such good care of me. But … you are not my type." He gently but firmly brushed her hand aside.

"I don't understand. What does 'not my type' mean?"

"It means that … I'm not interested in you in the way that you want me to be."

"Would you like one of my sisters? Do you prefer blonds? Are the Sixes …?" Sharon had a ghastly thought. "Surely you don't like my older sisters? Surely you don't prefer the Threes?"

Hoshi shook his head. "Sharon, I've never even seen a Three … and, no … I don't especially like blonds."

Cavil threw his hands into the air in disgust. "Do you see what I mean," he said to his tardy brother. "They just keep going around in circles. I'm beginning to wonder whether he wants to frak a centurion."

The One stared appraisingly at Louis Hoshi and noted the extreme discomfort of his body language. "Here's an idea," he said. "Why don't you download your whole pornographic suite into a Five, supercharge his pheromones, and send him in there? It's worth a try, and if that doesn't work I'll try setting our esteemed colonel up with the hybrid! I'm running late, but let me know how it works out." Cavil turned and started to leave the chamber.

"What's your hurry," Cavil called out curiously.

"The Eight's an emotional wreck," Cavil answered. "I'm going to console her."

. . .

"Now who's the wuss?"

Kara fought her way through the fog inside her brain, and when she finally got clear she found Lee staring down at her. There was a triumphant expression on his face, but there was also a merry twinkle in his eyes.

"Me, I guess. There, I've said it. Are you happy now?" She propped herself up on her elbows.

"Don't even think about getting out of bed," Apollo warned; "at least, not until you've checked under the covers. We wouldn't want to suffer through another of your infamous misunderstandings."

Kara took a quick peek, and grimaced involuntarily. _Damn! Why is it that every time I wake up these days I'm stark naked? Who undressed me this time?_

"It was Larissa Karanis," Lee said, reading her thoughts. "You were a mess, Kara, and you weren't capable of looking after yourself. You were really out of it."

Lee walked to the foot of the bed, picked a pile of clothes off a stool, and tossed them casually in her direction.

"What's the matter, Kara? Did big brother have a bad dream? It must have been a whopper because you heaved your guts up to the point where you passed out."

Kara tilted her head, and reached out for Hera.

"She's fine, Kara." Apollo was watching her closely. "Sharon and Karl are in the next room … Hera's fine."

"I know," she replied simply. She looked up at Lee. Kara wasn't a mind-reader, but she knew what he was thinking. "It's hard to describe, Lee … the human vocabulary is so limiting. We don't talk to one another … not exactly. It's more like a feeling. Hera and I exchange feelings."

"_Hey,"_ she said brightly when she saw the look on his face. "What can I tell you? It's a hybrid thing."

"Not anymore," he told her bluntly. "We've finally figured out how Cavil can find us at will. You're a receiver, Kara, but you're also a transmitter. Natalie says that you and John are a pair of high-powered antennae, and that you're sending out a signal that can be picked up by hybrids halfway across the universe. Only this time you apparently short-circuited every oracle in the fleet, not to mention Laura Roslin and all the hybrid babies."

"Gee, you're just full of good cheer today," Kara teased. "What are you doing here, Lee? Are you trying to cheer me up or piss me off?"

"Oh, come on, Kara; everybody knows that the only way to cheer you up is to piss you off." Then he got serious. "Creusa threw up so violently that she thought she was having a miscarriage," he said quietly.

Kara was shocked, and instantly apologetic. "Lee, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I can't feel Cyrene yet … she's not old enough."

"Is it always going to be like this, Kara? Are the two of you always going to be able to terrorize my daughter?" Lee liked Kara- hell, a part of him _loved _Kara- but he had absolutely no doubt about his priorities. Cyrene was still in the womb, but she was his daughter and he was prepared to go to very great lengths to protect her. Lee Adama was now skating close to the edge.

Kara peered blindly down at her blankets, and she missed the storm that was raging opposite her. She sadly shook her head. "I'm the station at the bottom of the band, Lee … the one that you can never quite tune in because of all the static. But John … John's a 50,000 watt transmitter, and the song that he's playing right now … you should be glad that you can't hear it."

Apollo let out a deep sigh. "Kara, we'll be back in the Colonies in less than two hours, which will probably confuse the hell out of the Cavils. I have to know what we're up against. Will they attack us in strength?"

"No," she replied instantly. "We have both a baseship and a resurrection ship in the system. Cavil won't run the risk."

"_Bierns has come up with another resurrection ship?"_ Lee whistled softly. "Gods, Kara, why don't the two of you just reach out to the rest of your sisters and get them to surrender? You can end this war anytime you want!"

"No, Lee; it doesn't work that way! _Aargh!_" Kara shook her head in frustration. _Words! _"I want to explain so many things to you, but there's no frame of reference. "It's like … it's like … they're offline or something. And we have to bring them online … we have to get their attention. And it's not nearly as easy as you think. John's good at this, but I … I … with Pelea, I had to crawl into her tank and do everything but rape her in order to get her attention. All because I won't … I won't …"

"You won't what, Kara?" Lee's voice was little more than a whisper.

"_I won't let go!" _Despair was written all over Kara's face. "Lee, I've felt the … the wrongness … since I was thirteen years old. There's nothing like having your first period," she bitterly exclaimed, "to alter a girl's view of reality. Deep down inside, I must have always known because when Thalia called me her daughter, everything went _click_! And I know what I'm supposed to do. Oh, gods, Lee, I wish that you could see Galatea Bay … see my _home_! It's paradise. Everything's so peaceful and serene … right up to the moment when I show up. I'm a nag, Lee … a shrew … and all because _I won't let go_! The others all live comfortably inside each other's heads, but I'm still an outsider because I won't let go of my human constructs and join the hive. I'm trapped in a nether world. Kara Thrace is gone, but I still refuse to embrace who I really am. I'm afraid. Every hour of every day … every frakking minute … I'm afraid. I can't go home unless Reun takes me, so Pelea is cut off from her family because I can't make the bridge. John had to fly the blackbird because he's inside Reun's mind and I'm not. But I could be … it would be _so frakking easy_! All I have to do is open myself up … embrace her … and it's done. But I'm a coward, Lee … isn't that a laugh? Once you get past Starbuck, there's nothing there … except for this pathetic, weak, selfish coward."

"Kara, why are you beating up on yourself this way? Pathetic … yeah, you're pathetic," he grinned; "but you're not selfish and you're certainly not a coward!"

"Oh, you're wrong, Lee: you're so, so wrong. You should talk to Sonja because she's really got me pegged. I'm a brat … a spoilt, selfish brat. I want everything to be on my terms, and if you won't agree to play the game according to my rules … why, I'll simply take my ball and run home."

"Come on, Kara, when it comes to running away … we're both highly qualified professionals. I've spent my entire life running away … only now I've stopped running. It went _click_ for me as well, in the very first second that I looked into Creusa's eyes. It's absurd, and I tried to rationalize it a thousand different ways, but _I knew_. This is the woman I'm supposed to be with. No matter how long or short it may turn out to be, I'll love her for the rest of my life. So, maybe all of us run away for a reason. Maybe we have to run away from all the things that are chasing us so that we can run toward the one thing that we want … the one thing that defines who we really are. All you've told me so far is that you're not ready. Maybe you never will be: hell, who's to say that you and John must inevitably follow the same path? Or maybe you're just waiting for that one second that will erase all doubt and then you'll join the hive. And by the way—have I mentioned that this sounds really creepy? As much as I love Creusa, I don't think that I would actually want her to be rattling around inside my skull."

"Oh, it might not be so bad, Lee. You have to admit … it does give a whole new twist to the idea of mental porn. She could frak both your body and your mind."

"I've always known that you have sex on your brain," Lee deadpanned. Then he turned serious again. "So, what are we gonna do, Kara? Where does this leave Cyrene? Where does it leave Hera? What the hell are we dealing with here, and what are we supposed to do?"

"I'm not really sure; everything's in bits and pieces."

"Great, Kara," Lee snorted in disgust; "that's just frakkin' great."

"_Lee, I'm telling you the truth! What do you want from me?"_ Kara tried to calm down, but her friend had just struck a very sensitive nerve. "Gods, it's like I'm looking at something in a mirror that's been shattered into a thousand pieces. There's something there, but it's all fragments, and they don't add up to anything yet."

"Sharon says that there's blood everywhere, and she means _everywhere_!"

"Blood … corpses … _but it doesn't tell me anything_! I can't locate what I'm feeling in the past, present, or future; I'm not even sure that it's coming from John."

"_What? That's impossible!"_

"No … it's not. Lee, the reason I can't pin it down … it's because … it's because it feels timeless. No, damn it … that's not quite right. It feels like being outside of time. It feels like I'm standing on the most distant shore of the universe one second after its death, and I can see all of time and space compressed into a single instant. It's dark and bloody and lifeless. John and I can't do this, but the hybrids can and do see it all every time they jump. Every … single … time, Lee—and John is right there, inside their minds … an integral part of the hive. He may be tapping into something that's buried in the hive's collective consciousness … a … a … a kind of group memory … only there was no hive, no group memory until he began putting our family back together."

"So, this madness may have little or nothing to do with the two of you." Lee nodded in understanding. "He could be a cipher … a kind of conduit or filter for everybody who can reach or even sense Galatea Bay. Only it turns out that this heavenly paradise of yours is a tiny island somewhere in the middle of an ocean straight out of Hell."

"Lee, this is all speculative. Don't take anything I've said here as scripture."

"Is there a high place in this latter-day version of V world … a high bluff or a mountaintop from which you can see over the horizon?"

"Yes; we front the sea, and there's a high cliff face behind."

"Kara, listen to me. We don't have a lot of time. You need to go there … you need to climb the cliff. Hybrids live in two parallel dimensions, but you have yet to go exploring. We can't put this off any longer. You have to find out what surrounds Elysium and report back before we reach the Colonies."

"Why?" Lee suspected something … Kara was sure of it. "What is it that you expect me to find?"

"Like you, I'm not really sure. But I'm guessing that you're going to find your mirror, Kara. Only it won't be shattered. On the top of that cliff it'll be intact, and you'll learn what this is all about."

. . .

Hoshi sensed movement in the entryway, and began mentally to prepare himself to go still another round with the highly emotional cylon female. He was debating trying to fend her off with a bit of out-of-date and quite useless intelligence when the figure stepped into the light. The newcomer took him completely by surprise. He judged the man to be in his mid-thirties and cursed with unremarkable features, but the eyes were shrewdly appraising, and that made Hoshi wary. _He's got to be a Cylon,_ the human officer rapidly concluded, _because there's not a human being anywhere in the universe who would dress like this!_

Aaron Doral had decided to go all out for his blind date with Louis Hoshi. He had opted to complement his favorite burgundy suit with a pastel pink shirt and red tie, whose thin, diagonal stripes were an exact match for his shirt. The creases in his trousers were razor sharp, his black dress shoes were polished to a mirrored finish, and he had chosen an aftershave especially for the occasion. _Manhunter_ was the most potent fragrance in Aaron's considerable arsenal.

_Zeus save us all_, Hoshi silently cried … _he's wearing Manhunter! _The scent was so overpoweringly strong and downright malodorous that half the bars in Pailyn had banned it from the premises. If anyone had had the temerity to use the aftershave on _Pegasus_, Hoshi was utterly convinced that Admiral Cain would have airlocked them on the spot.

Hoshi was sitting on the bed, and he didn't bother to get up. The Cylon approached to within a few feet, and then stood silently studying the newly promoted colonel. _Not bad,_ Doral decided; _not bad at all. The bit of gray in his hair gives him a distinctly regal bearing._

"My name is Aaron Doral," he finally said. "I'm one of the series Five Cylons. You have caused one of my sister Eights considerable emotional damage. Do you have any excuse for your inexcusable behavior, or is this just another example of human insensitivity?"

Louis slowly counted to five while he silently regarded his counterpart. "I regret any distress that I may have inflicted upon your … uh … sister. I did, however, politely explain to her that I have taken a lifelong vow of celibacy in honor of my patron, the god Attis. She refused to take 'no' for an answer."

"I see … or rather, I don't. Aren't the priests of Attis eunuchs by their own hand?"

"Traditionally … yes. But I am a worshipper, not a priest."

"So your genitalia are in prime condition?"

_This conversation is less than a minute old, and the machine wants to talk about my private parts? What in the name of the gods is the matter with these people?_

Prudence being the better part of valor, Louis chose to say nothing.

The Five sat down beside him, and reached out to grasp his thigh.

_Here we go again,_ Hoshi thought despairingly.

_He's got good muscle tone, _Aaron thought approvingly. He squeezed the human's thigh between his thumb and index finger.

_Where are the centurions? Will they shoot me if I try to escape?_

"Colonel, it did belatedly occur to us that you might … prefer … men to women. This will not be a problem. I have personally had several satisfying relationships with my brothers, and I am eager to cultivate a friendship with a human."

"Um … uh … Aaron … you do know that we're at war, don't you?"

"Nonsense," the Five responded as he enthusiastically clapped Colonel Hoshi on the back. "I've been led to believe that it was all a big misunderstanding. It's time to put the past behind us. We should concentrate instead on matters to hand." Aaron paused to flick a bit of lint off his trousers before favoring the colonel with a well-rehearsed leer. Not for nothing did he have a degree in Public Relations.

"Um … uh … I would like to be your friend, Aaron. But I would also like to be your sister's friend. She really is a very nice young woman."

"Thank you, Louis. I'm relieved to learn that you favor threesomes, and now that we've cleared the air, I'm sure that all will be forgiven and that my sister will be delighted to join us. Personally, I favor foursomes. Would you like me to invite a second Eight, or perhaps one of my brothers, to participate?"

"Uh … Five … that's not really what I had in mind. However, if you and your sister would like to … uh … copulate, I would very much like to watch. Do the centurions ever participate," he asked curiously.

"Some of my sisters swear by them," Doral answered. "Would you like to try one?"

"Um … no … thank you. _But,_" Louis said cheerfully, "if you would like to entertain a centurion, I would certainly find it educational. It might even inspire me to forge … uh … better relations with them in the future."

"Excellent. Let's go find my sister. You can apologize for your earlier insensitivity: all things considered, it might be best for you to claim that you had a headache. Our overseer copies are all under a great deal of stress, and their behavior invariably leaves much to be desired. Headaches are routinely invoked to excuse bad manners around here."

"That's sound advice, Aaron; thank you. Do you machines actually get headaches, or is it all just polite fiction?"

"It's hard to say. We do lie, but only when we're not telling the truth. I sometimes find it difficult to tell which is which. Don't humans have the same problem?"

"You're absolutely right, Five … and I would be lying if I claimed otherwise. Now, let's go track down your sister. . . ."

In the observation booth, Cavil nodded with satisfaction. The Eights had seduced twelve of the thirteen humans with ridiculous ease, and the upgrades to the Five had succeeded in penetrating the senior officer's more formidable defenses. It would take time for the Eights to finish bonding with their various partners, but the project was already nicely ahead of schedule. They could now proceed to the more comprehensive test regime, and if everything continued to proceed smoothly, they could initiate Phase Two in a matter of weeks.

. . .

Kara was hastening down the beach. In the distance, she could see John sitting just above the water line, his knees clasped firmly under his chin. He was as still as a statue, staring out to sea. And he was alone. Startled, Kara glanced up at the sprawling house, but it was also still and silent. She had been here many times, and it had never been like this. The quiet was disconcerting.

"So, where is everybody," she asked as she plopped down in the sand at John's side.

"Anywhere but here," he said shortly. The spook did not turn his head.

"They're avoiding you? That's a first." Kara pulled the salt air deep into her lungs, and exhaled with a contented sigh. "Gods, but I love this place. All this beauty … and there's not a Two in sight. It really is paradise."

Kara lay back in the warm sand with her hands clasped behind her neck. "Any idea what's happening," she inquired in a neutral tone.

"I seem to be having a psychotic episode. The Simons made the diagnosis, and at the moment it's very popular. Our sisters seem especially keen to believe that I'm hallucinating. No one wants to deal with the substance of this … well … whatever it is."

"Yeah, reality can be such a bitch. Thank the gods that we're on a beach. If they all want to bury their heads in the sand, I'll go fetch some shovels."

John looked at her sharply. "Well, well, well," he finally remarked; "and here I've been waiting for you to plunge a syringe into my neck and sedate me."

"You have been raising one hell of a ruckus," Kara conceded with a grin. "Every oracle in the fleet took a trip to la-la land," she laughed. "And you'll love this part," she continued. "While I was busy heaving my guts out, my baseship started hemorrhaging. I missed it, but I'm told it was awesome: blood was oozing out of the walls all over the frakkin' place!"

John finally relaxed, and his body shook with laughter. "I'd love to see how that reads in Adama's log!"

"Somebody should write a song," Kara suggested.

"_Baseship, weep for me … baseship, can't you see …"_ John poked Kara, silently urging her to carry on.

"_My love is weeping just like a willow tree … baseship, oh baseship … please … oh puh …lea … se … weep for me." _

"Gods," she chortled, "but we're terrible. The universe is falling apart, and we're cracking jokes."

"I can deal with that, Kara, but you can't carry a tune for shit."

"Hey, I used to be a pretty good pianist!"

"Prove it," he said, nodding up at the house.

"We don't …"

"We do now."

She stared at him, unsure whether he was teasing or serious.

"So, you're not upset with me?" John knew that they had been dancing around the reason why Kara was here and no one else.

"Are you kidding? We're both crazy, but so what? You have _never_ steered us wrong … _never_. And don't think for one minute that everybody's written you off. Sharon and Helo are behind you one hundred percent, and Lee … good old Lee Adama wants us to climb the cliff and check out the surrounding countryside. He thinks that we'll find the answer up there." Kara pointed vaguely in the direction of the cliff face.

"Oh, please, Kara, there is no 'surrounding countryside'. There's nothing beyond Galatea … not even a void."

"Lee disagrees, and he was really adamant about this. I think he's on to something, but I don't want to say anything more. You're so good at rearranging this place that I definitely do not want to take a chance on influencing you. But we have to hurry; my ship is less than two hours from the Colonies, and Lee thinks that we need to figure this out before the grand reunion. So," Kara said cheerily, "can we sprout wings? After all, rumor has it that I'm the 'soaring angel'."

"Who needs wings? Just close your eyes and tell yourself to fly."

"Wow! Fan … frakking … tastic!" Kara closed her eyes and ordered herself to fly … but nothing happened. She tentatively opened one eye, and peeked at him.

"There's another one born every day," John said in mock disgust. He was already on his feet and heading for the cliff. "Come on, Kara," he beckoned. "Let's do this the old-fashioned way. Besides, now that I'm an invalid, this is about the only exercise I'm likely to get!"

The cliff face was heavily eroded, and there were hand and footholds everywhere. They made rapid progress, but it was still a good climb and they were both winded when they finally scaled the summit. Kara got to her feet, and looked inland. Just as John had predicted, there was nothing there—a blank, featureless _nothing_.

Then she turned around to look out across the sea.

"Oh, frak me," she whispered.

John put his arm around her waist, and held her tight. "Well, at least now we know where our rosy sunsets come from," he muttered.

"Lee was right." Kara was on the edge of tears. "He was right."

They could see well beyond Galatea's limited horizon now … well beyond the edge of their tiny world. An angry, crimson flood was pounding relentlessly against the far shores of his perfect creation, seeking the destruction of all that John Bierns held dear.

. . .

The baseship jumped into high orbit over Gemenon, but Natalie kept their missile batteries off line and the Raiders in their nests. The other baseship, and the cathedral-like resurrection vessel, were both parked far below, in the upper reaches of the ionosphere.

"There's an unusual amount of Heavy Raider traffic," the Six reported as she continued to study the stream at the secondary console. "It is particularly heavy in the area around the retreat, but I am detecting movement in the lower atmosphere planet wide."

"D'Anna, contact your sister on the baseship. "Tell her that we have come to help the First Born … and find out who's effectively in charge over there."

"They have already contacted us," D'Anna commented. "It's one of your sisters … Cynthia."

Natalie picked up the telephone; the wireless was still the only reliable means of communicating between ships.

"Natalie."

"Six, the last time that you jumped into the neighborhood, I lost a baseship and ended up in a vat of goo. Are you here to pick up where we left off?"

"No. I am here to help our First Born. He is in great distress."

There was a long pause. "But you were thousands of light years away," Cynthia finally stated. "The connection is _that strong_?"

"John and Reun … our hybrid … are very close. I don't know what else to tell you."

"And we don't know what we're dealing with," Cynthia confessed. "Our child has had so many nightmares, and they are getting progressively worse. Our hybrid is frightened; she is visibly struggling to cope. We suspect that she is working very hard to keep whatever she sees in John's mind from entering the stream. The Fours firmly believe that he is psychotic, Caprica insists that he is being overwhelmed by repressed memories, and the human doctor says that it's something called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

"You have humans on your baseship," Natalie asked sharply.

"Yes … we have evacuated almost four thousand survivors from Picon … all that were left. Our landing bays are also filled with heavy construction equipment and raw materials. Originally, we were planning to push on to Caprica to collect the survivors there as well, but John's deteriorating condition forced us to divert to Gemenon. The Blessed Mother of the Monad church has helped him in the past, and we are praying that she can do so now. Caprica and Gina are bringing her up from the planet."

"How is Gina?"

"I do not think that she will be pleased to see you. She wonders why you made no attempt to free her from captivity. Our child was badly injured rescuing her, and if Caprica is right, it is his injuries that have triggered these episodes. Gina blames you, sister … and she is not alone. Your inaction has done great harm. I do not believe that you will be welcome on this ship."

Natalie sighed. She had never heard of Cylons holding a grudge, but they all lived in a rapidly changing universe. "So, what are you planning to do with the humans?"

"Take them to the fleet, of course." Natalie could hear the surprise in the Six's voice. "We have nowhere else to go."

"Sister, I'm the second in command of the fleet. We will have to work this out."

"No, we won't," Cynthia said firmly. "We shall make our own arrangements with Admiral Adama."

"As you wish," Natalie conceded. She lightly shook her head in wonder. The collective's consensus hadn't simply been disrupted … it had been shattered.

"Our daughter is with John right now, inside his projection. Would she be welcome on your ship?"

"_Kara's here?"_

"Kara … four of the hybrid mothers-to-be … and we have our own medical staff, both cylon and human. Sister, you may have been spared the details of John's visions, but we weren't. They swept across our fleet like a tidal wave. For the sake of all concerned, I hope that you will allow Leoben, Simon, and Larissa to treat our first born. They have all worked with him extensively. D'Anna would also like to come. She thinks of John as her son."

"I understand. We will welcome them among us."

"Thank you. I will make the necessary arrangements. First, we will have to disconnect Kara."

"_Disconnect her?"_

"Her only link to John is through our hybrid. We have to sever the connection between them."

"We are all eager to meet our daughter. Please, hurry."

. . .

"Well," Kara observed, "I guess the 64,000 cubit question is whether you created _that_ as well as Galatea Bay." They were sitting on the overlook, and she nodded in the direction of the crimson tsunami in the far distance.

"Uh … Kara … wouldn't you think that I would remember creating that monster? I don't, and it hardly seems the sort of thing that would slip one's mind."

"Oh, I don't know," Kara grinned. "You definitely created Heaven, so maybe Hell crept in when you weren't paying attention."

"Can't we just blame this on Zoe Graystone, and call it quits?"

"Good one, superspy, but I'm not letting you off the hook quite that easily." Kara climbed to her feet. "We've arrived," she announced, "and Natalie wants me to lead the meet and greet on your baseship. Can you pull me in, or do I have to merge with Olivia?"

"Try me first."

"Okay … I'm outta here." Kara released Reun's hand, and vanished in a blaze of light.

. . .

Kara was the first to exit the Heavy Raider, and her face erupted in a huge grin when she saw who was waiting for her at the bottom of the ramp. She rushed forward and hugged the Cylon close.

"Gods, Boomer, but it's good to see you again. I've missed you _so frakking much_!"

"_Kara!"_ Sharon hugged her in return. "I'm glad to see that you're still your usual, foul-mouthed self! But how did you recognize me? Around here, I'm just another Eight."

"Hybrid intuition," Kara said in self-mockery. Then she punched Sharon in the shoulder. "The Old Man is going to kick your ass from one end of the bucket to the other. He took your death really hard. If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I swear …"

"What … that you'll shoot me yourself," Boomer laughed.

Kara peeked over Sharon's shoulder. There were Twos and Sixes everywhere, with a sprinkling of Threes, Eights, and humans tossed in for good measure. "So," she whispered, "what am I dealing with here? How many Sixes are on board?"

"One thousand and two," Boomer whispered back. "Are you ready to run the gauntlet?"

"Not just yet." Kara pulled back and looked around in puzzlement. "Where's Gina?"

"She and Caprica will be here in about five minutes. They are bringing the Blessed Mother to see John."

"_Wow,"_ Kara proclaimed; "so, I'm finally going to meet the fabulous Natasi Six, Hero of the Cylon and CSS undercover agent extraordinaire? This really is my lucky day. Uh … Boomer, you do know about Natasi, right?"

Sharon laughed again. "Caprica really is a spook, Kara. She hands out information grudgingly … when she bothers to hand it out at all."

"Boomer, there's something that you need to know. Galen's on our ship, and he's … uh … heavily involved with an Eight who calls herself Naomi. I hope that you won't be too hard on him. Now… tell me … just who the frak is the Blessed Mother?"

A dark cloud passed swiftly across Sharon's face, but she knew her sisters well. Upon consideration, it did not surprise her to learn that one of them had got her hooks into the Chief.

"Kara, the Blessed Mother is the spiritual leader of our faith. Our holy place, the Church of the Monad, is here on Gemenon; it's in the northern mountains, overlooking the sea. Reverend Mother is John's mentor and guide. A long time ago, when he was very troubled, our child came here in search of answers. She helped him to construct Galatea Bay … helped him in a lot of ways. We are hoping that she can help him again. How is he," she asked anxiously.

"Puzzled," Kara bluntly observed. "We're both trying to figure out what it is that we're seeing. And he's really disappointed in all of you." Kara raised her voice as she looked around the hangar deck. "He's shocked that you have all turned on him so readily, and I'm _really_ pissed at my sisters. I'm thinking of turning the whole lot of them into punching bags … and I punch really hard."

The Cylons started looking uneasily at one another, and Larissa Karanis noted their discomfort. Standing on the ramp behind Kara, she stole a quick glance at Leoben, and noted with satisfaction that the Two had also registered their unease. The only time Cylons ever seemed to fidget was when they were on the defensive.

"Ease off, Colonel. We may disagree about what's ailing him, but no one's abandoned the major." Kara was wearing her uniform, and the human officer had noted the insignia on her collar. "By the way, I'm Colonel Alexander Phillips, commanding the 3654th Colonial Marines. This is my aide, Lieutenant Andrea Minor. We're engineers, and our unit accounts for roughly half the people lifted off of Picon." The two officers saluted Kara, which touched her deeply. She snapped off a crisp salute of her own, and then introduced herself formally.

"Colonel Kara Thrace, commanding the combined air wing of the Cylon-human alliance—which means that I own every frakking Raider and Heavy Raider on these decks. _Lieutenant Valerii_," she barked, "you are out of uniform, but for the time being I'm willing to overlook it. I am giving you a battlefield promotion, which Admiral Adama may or may not choose to acknowledge when you catch up with the fleet. Effective immediately, _Captain Valerii_, you are the acting CAG on this tub. At your earliest possible convenience, I want you to haul your ass over to my baseship and report to Captain Adama, who is Natalie's permanent CAG. That's right," she said as she saw the confused looks on the faces of many of the assembled Cylons, "we are an integrated force." Kara turned back to Boomer. "Lee will try and fix you up with a uniform. Leoben, do we have any spares?"

Behind her, the Two grinned wolfishly; he knew exactly what his niece was up to. "We'll manage, Colonel." Leoben had decided to keep it short.

"Would _now_ be a good time, Captain," Kara asked pointedly.

Boomer grew about six inches on the spot. She loved the uniform, and everything that it stood for. _I'm going home; I'm going back to the fleet!_

"Sir; yes, sir," she replied as she stood to attention and saluted her superior. "Do I have the Colonel's permission to use her Heavy Raider?" Boomer could barely contain her joy.

"Permission granted. Now, get your scrawny ass out of here, Captain."

Boomer saluted again, and raced up the ramp. A minute later, the Heavy Raider departed for the baseship.

Alexander Phillips waited until Boomer was safely away, and then he burst out laughing. "My gods, Colonel; I have never seen a Cylon jump for joy before. I don't know what's going on, but you have sure made that young woman happy."

Kara laughed in turn. "Boomer was a Cylon sleeper agent on _Galactica_," she explained. "And she is, without a doubt, the worst Raptor pilot in the history of the Colonial fleet. She's missed more traps, and put more dents in the old girl's hide, than all the other Raptor wranglers put together. But Admiral Adama loves her; Sharon and I are sort of his adopted daughters."

Kara waded into the sea of Cylons, and reached out to hug one of the many Sixes gathered around her. "Hi, mom," she said; "I'm really happy to meet you at last." And Kara meant it; her love for her family was bottomless.

The Six hugged her hard in return before passing Kara on to one of her sisters. While she waited for Gina, Caprica, and the mysterious Blessed Mother to arrive, Kara happily ran as much of the gauntlet as she could.

. . .

"It was a black ops mission," Novacek readily conceded. "The Taurons were drilling for tylium ore on a moon that was _way_ too close to the Armistice Line. We knew that they had to get out of there, or we risked provoking the Cylons. I was sent in with a Stealthstar to gather evidence, but I had a bad feeling about the mission from the outset. Maybe it was the registration number … 7746VA. You know the old saying, Mr. Vice President, 'once lucky'? I always hated flying a ship that had two sevens in the registry."

Daniel Novacek was prowling restlessly around his cage. "Anyway, I sure wish that I had paid more attention to all the bad vibes that the mission was giving off, because the Taurons knew I was coming. They had to know. They ambushed me, and that shouldn't have been possible. Two fighters came out of nowhere, took their shots, and then vanished behind the moon. They left me spinning out of control, and I ended up crossing the Line. The Cylons were on me in a matter of seconds; one of their Raiders fired off a missile, and I ejected. The Cylons picked me up, and I've been in this cage ever since. Seven years … it feels more like seventy."

Gaius Baltar tilted his head as far back as it would go, and then began rotating it from side to side. He was stiff and sore, and he had already decided to ask his new Cylon girlfriend for a massage. He was still looking up at the ceiling when he finally spoke.

"It's a nice story, Lieutenant … really entertaining. But if you have to tell it again, I would advise you to prune some of the fine details. It's not nearly as convincing as the old _'it all happened so fast that I couldn't keep up'_ dodge. Item number one: the Colonial fleet wasn't supposed to go anywhere near the Armistice Line. Item number two: the Colonial Secret Service had the armistice zone under a blanket, and they would never have tolerated a large-scale mining operation so close to the Line. Item number three: the CSS officer in charge of interdicting this sort of nonsense survived the attacks, and he happens to be an acquaintance of mine. I don't think that Major Bierns would find your tale nearly as amusing as I do."

Baltar finished stretching, and he walked over to confront Novacek through the bars. There was a hard glint in his eyes, and his voice was like steel. "Now, let's try this again, Lieutenant. You have already admitted that the _Valkyrie_ was in the armistice zone, which directly contravenes standing presidential orders with which I happen to be intimately familiar. No one knew whether the Cylons were out there or not, but the President and the CSS always assumed the worst. So, you and your commanding officer were both obeying an illegal order. Only one question remains: did you deliberately violate the Armistice Line?"

Danny looked Gaius steadily in the eye. "Mr. Vice-President, I don't know anything about an illegal mission. We were dealing with a rogue mining operation, but they were on to us from the get-go. My ending up on the wrong side of the Armistice Line was pure accident."

The scientist stared at the Colonial officer for a long time. "If it ever comes to a court martial," Baltar finally remarked, "you might want to speak with an attorney before repeating any of this rubbish under oath." Gaius exited the chamber, and found the Eight waiting for him.

"Are you all right," she asked with concern.

"I'm tired, Sharon," he said wearily; "tired of all the lies. Brother Cavil was right—we brought this war upon ourselves."

"And we overreacted," she responded. "Both sides made mistakes, but it's all in the past." She kissed him lightly on the lips. "We need to let go … to heal. We have to start over. Come." Sharon took him by the hand and led him gently down the corridor. "Let's go to my chamber. You're tired and upset, but I know how to make you feel better."

. . .

An expectant hush descended upon the landing bay. Caught up in the moment, Kara discovered that she was literally holding her breath. To her left, she saw that Leoben was leaning forward, his eyes glittering with anticipation.

When the ramp descended, two centurions were the first to emerge—and Kara gaped in astonishment. She had seen pictures of U-87s in history books, but never in her wildest dreams had it occurred to her that some of the antiques might still be around. She wondered if everybody else in the chamber was equally stunned.

A pair of Sixes stepped out, and Kara instantly recognized Gina. She did not recognize the platinum haired Cylon standing to her left, but she presumed that this was Caprica—the most celebrated copy in the entire Six series.

The two of them parted, and an elderly woman began slowly to walk down the middle of the ramp. All around Kara, the Cylons fell to one knee and bowed their heads as a token of respect. The handful of humans on the deck remained standing, but they all felt awkward and embarrassed.

The Blessed Mother came and stood in front of her. "You must be Kara Six," she kindly remarked. Her gaze swept across the kneeling Cylons, and Kara caught the flicker of amusement that curled her lips.

_She hates ceremony,_ Kara instantly concluded. _I like her already._

"Rise, my children," the Blessed Mother commanded. With a gesture, she encouraged them all to stand.

The old woman turned back to Kara, who found that she was staring into eyes capable of piercing her very soul. The wisdom and strength in those aged eyes made Kara feel very young and foolish.

"Child, you cannot possibly understand how pleased I am to meet you after all these years. John and I have spoken of you often. It is as he has always told me: you are very much your mother's daughter."

"Thank you, Reverend Mother." Kara also briefly bowed her head in respect, and for once found herself completely tongue-tied.

"Kara, there is another here who has equally been looking forward to this day." The Blessed Mother turned and beckoned the platinum haired Six to come forward. "Child, this is Caprica Six, the leader of the human resistance. Natasi, this is your daughter … the Second Born."

The two young women stared openly at one another, and Kara felt as if her heart was breaking in two. With a loud wail, she rushed forward and literally threw herself into Caprica's arms. _"Mother,"_ she screamed, and then she broke down in tears.

Caprica held her close, and hot tears began to stream down her cheeks as well. She was completely overcome by the power of the emotions surging through her.

The Blessed Mother considerately stepped away, and began introducing herself to the few humans on the deck. She allowed time to pass, and then she addressed the Cylons at large.

"I am told that another of my children is in need of care. I fear that there is little I can do, for his life has been a testament to suffering … but I must try. Will someone kindly take me to him?"

"It will be my honor, Reverend Mother," Gina said respectfully. "It is this way."

Humans and Cylons alike trailed them slowly through the ship, most of them wondering if they would bear witness to a miracle. Their arms tightly wrapped around each other, Kara and Natasi did not so much walk as shuffle along with the others.

Kara stopped abruptly, and her eyes went wide. _"Leoben,"_ she yelled.

The Cylon rushed forward, and the Blessed Mother turned to look back at her quizzically.

"It's starting," was all that Kara could whisper.

"The baseship," he queried.

"Yes." Kara shut her eyes tight, and dug her fist into his arm.

"The baseships are aware, Reverend Mother," Leoben explained as he cradled his niece. "They speak to us constantly, but Kara is the only creature in the universe who can hear their song, and even she cannot hear them all."

"The First Born does not have this gift," the Blessed Mother commented with a frown. "How is this possible?"

"You are correct. John is the true brother of our hybrids, but not Kara. Her uniqueness lies in her genetic connection to some of our ships. She carries their DNA within her. It is hard even for us to understand, but she thinks of her own ship as her grandmother."

Leoben looked at Caprica, who was still standing close. "Your ship has a lot to say, and she knows that Kara can hear her. It is all coming out in a rush, like a dam breaking. Right now, Kara feels like she's drowning."

"We must send her to Heaven," the Blessed Mother swiftly concluded. "I do not believe that your ship will be able to follow us there. Come, we must hurry."

"Take me to John," Kara somehow choked out. . . .

In his chamber, the Blessed Mother asked for a chair, and while she was waiting she looked curiously at the Eight, who was still lying at John's side. He looked to be asleep, but everyone present knew better.

"This is Sharon." Gina softly introduced the Cylon. "She carries the First Born's child."

The Blessed Mother glanced sharply at the Eight, and then a look of great contentment swept across her elderly features. "I shall pray for the three of you," she announced; "I shall pray that God deliver you safely of a healthy child."

"Thank you, Reverend Mother," Sharon whispered. "We have decided to name her Eirene."

"A daughter of Peace," the Blessed Mother observed approvingly. "It is, my child, an auspicious choice."

"John, you are just full of surprises today." Kara had sunk to the floor. Her head was spinning, but she still reached for his hand. "I can't wait to hear what you have to say for yourself." And with that she was gone.

Larissa and Leoben were both watching carefully. "She's made the connection," Larissa confidently noted. She had seen this many times before.

. . .

"That's a relief," Kara said when she materialized behind her brother. "I half expected to end up scaling this damned cliff twice in one day."

John glanced over his shoulder, but he did not get up. He was still staring pensively at the crimson tide that threatened his prized creation.

"I did not expect this," a third voice somberly observed.

Taken completely by surprise, Kara and John both twisted around. _"Reverend Mother," _John exclaimed as he scrambled to his feet. He rushed forward and fell to his knees, kissing the hem of her long, flowing robe.

The Blessed Mother looked at Kara and rolled her eyes. Then she looked down at John, and softly patted the top of his head.

"John, how long have we known each other?"

"I've lost track, Reverend Mother. Is it eleven years, or twelve?"

"Eleven. And how many times have I asked you not to kneel before me, and to quit calling me 'Reverend Mother'?"

"I've lost track, Reverend Mother," he said with a smile.

"How did you get here?" Kara was seriously beginning to think that the Blessed Mother might just be a real, honest-to-goodness angel.

"Kara, I'm using a holoband. Oh, my goodness," she laughed; "have I grown wings?"

"No, Reverend Mother," Kara giggled.

"John, you look foolish down there. Get up, and introduce me to your sister. Introduce me properly."

The First Born reluctantly stood up, and gently kissed his mentor on the cheek. "Thank you for coming," he whispered. "At this point, Kara and I need all the help we can get."

"I'd say so," the Blessed Mother wryly noted as she surveyed the horizon.

"Kara," John formally explained, "Galatea Bay is my creation, but you are now meeting the architect …"

"Not true," the Blessed Mother scolded. She was waving a single finger back and forth in front of John's face. "We both know that the Zoe Graystone avatar deserves all the credit. I have done nothing more than share her insights with you."

"And Diaspora," John went on, pretending not to have heard her. "How many times across the years have you preached the same sermon … that man and machine must not only learn to live in peace but learn to live _together_ in peace? How many times have you steered me down this path? How many times have I been inspired by the example that you and the surviving U-87s have set?"

"I've lost track," the Blessed Mother conceded with a broad smile. "Now, introduce me to your sister."

"Certainly, Reverend Mother," John teased. He took her hand, and gently folded it into Kara's.

"Kara, this is Lacy Rand. Once upon a time, Lacy was Zoe Graystone's best friend."


	35. Chapter 35: The Voices of A Distant God

CHAPTER 35

THE VOICES OF A DISTANT GOD

"Hello, Chief."

The Heavy Raider had deposited Boomer on the deck of the large maintenance bay that constituted Galen Tyrol's personal fiefdom. _He must have seen a lot of our craft come and go,_ Sharon mused; _he didn't even look up when we landed._

Galen's head whipped around. He recognized not so much the voice as the intonation.

"Boomer," he breathed. There was a faraway look in the Chief's eyes, and Sharon knew that he was pulling up memories that reached back to a time before the war … back to a time when they had made love in defiance of all the rules against fraternization between ranks … back to a time when the Old Man had chosen to look the other way, knowing that they were planning to muster out together and start a family on Picon.

"Yeah," she whispered; "it's me, in the flesh." Sharon was also accessing long stored memories of stolen minutes and illicit love, and her mood had turned melancholy. Her memories were fresh, but she no longer recognized this earlier version of herself. Too many things had happened in the interim. The awkward, starry-eyed pilot whose bouts of nerves had caused her to botch every single landing in her Raptor was gone. Sharon suddenly realized that, no matter how adverse the conditions, she would never again be waved off, much less miss the trap.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sharon noticed one of her sisters rushing to Galen's side. This was a slightly older version of herself, with long, lustrous hair that softly glistened in the muted light of the hangar deck. Sharon's lips curled into a regretful smile. The Eight, whom she presumed to be Naomi, clearly felt threatened, and Sharon could see the deep sense of alarm that had settled in her eyes. Eights could do many things, but they still could not hide from one another. Boomer could read her sister so well because, in an earlier age, she would have felt similarly threatened. But Sharon Valerii no longer felt the need to hide behind the false fronts that she had once constructed to conceal her lack of confidence.

"We've missed you," Galen sighed—but his arm unconsciously wrapped itself around Naomi's waist and pulled her close. The Chief had also moved on … but in the most perverse of ways. "Are you okay," he asked.

Sharon nodded in agreement. "It took a while," she admitted … "but, yeah … I'm okay."

"I'm glad. The Old Man … we were devastated. Why, Sharon? Why did you do it?"

"I was tired, Galen … tired of not being one thing or the other. I just wanted it to end."

"So many people loved you …"

"And so many people hated me. I felt like I was living on the edge of a razor blade."

"It's going to be hard for you …"

"I know. But I'm stronger now … a different person. Our children have erased all my doubts."

"So, you've seen Kara?"

Boomer laughed. "She lectured me about being out of uniform. Then she promoted me on the spot; I'm her newest CAG. She finished up by ordering me to drag my butt over here and get properly dressed. I'm supposed to report to Captain Adama, and find some captain's bars of my own. 'Captain Sharon Valerii'," she laughed again; "what is this war coming to?"

"Just as long as she doesn't put you in charge of pilot training," Galen grinned. "Racetrack's been drilling Eights for months now. They're pretty good pilots … once they get past all of your bad habits."

Sharon laughed again, and this time it was genuine and deep-throated. It was just so good to be home.

"Don't worry, Galen … I won't put any more dents in the old girl's backside. It turns out that I'm a pretty good pilot, too … at least, when you're not watching. You gave me stage fright."

Boomer abruptly shifted her attention to Naomi. "So, are you good to him?"

"We're good to each other," the Eight elliptically replied. "We're planning on getting married," she proudly added.

"There's a lot of that going around," Galen cut in defensively. "Did you hear about Shelly and the Old Man?"

"Yes … and about Creusa and Apollo. Imagine … both Adamas end up marrying Sixes, and both have children on the way. It's nice to see something so good come out of this stupid, frakked up war."

"Lee and Creusa aren't quite married yet; everybody's waiting for her hormones to settle down. And as you say, there's still a war on, and it keeps getting in the way. But we're planning a big, group wedding. Sharon and Adonis, Stallion and his harem, Lee and Creusa, Naomi and me … Colonel Tigh reckons that we won't drink up so much of his precious booze if we roll all of the weddings into a single ceremony."

"Some things never change," Sharon remarked with a light smile. "Well," she said as she straightened up, "I guess that I'd better go and find Lee. Galen, I just want you to know that I'm happy for you … I'm happy for you both."

"Thanks, Sharon. I hope … well, I just hope that everything turns out right for you. No one deserves it more. After you see Lee and get squared away, Naomi and I would love … well, we'd like you to come with us when we visit Helo and Sharon. It's just a matter of weeks now, and Hera … can you manage to run one more emotional gauntlet?"

"Galen, I'm fine. Really, I am."

"I'll take you to Lee," Naomi interjected. She walked away, and with one last glance at the Chief, Boomer slowly followed.

"I'm not going to try and steal him back, if that's what you're worried about," Sharon commented evenly.

Naomi glanced at her with thinly veiled hostility. "For Galen's sake, I hope not," she responded. "In my time among humans, I have learned that a man torn between two women loses all sense of himself. The Chief also deserves better."

"Sister, it's the future that monopolizes my thoughts, not the past. Make Galen happy, and I'll be content."

"We are trying to have children," the Eight warned.

"Galen loves children." A warm feeling stole through Boomer as she remembered the excitement that had always gripped them after they had surreptitiously made love … when they were sharing their dreams for the future. Children were at the epicenter of all their plans. "I hope that your first will be a girl. Galen has his heart set on a girl. He wants to spoil her rotten."

"I know," Naomi quietly answered. She led Sharon down a long corridor to another landing bay. Sharon caught a glimpse of Vipers on the deck in front of her. She spotted Lee, clipboard in hand. He was consulting with a Six and a pair of Twos, and it struck Boomer once again that the war had been twisted beyond all recognition. Lee Adama had once hated Cylons as much as any human being in the universe, and now he was surrounded by them yet looked completely relaxed.

Boomer approached him from the rear, and came to a halt a few feet away. "Captain Sharon Valerii reporting as ordered," she barked. As Lee turned to face her, she stood to attention and gave him her best salute.

. . .

"I'd like to believe you, Sharon … I really would. But it's hard. Cavil speaks about peace with such conviction, but actions speak far more loudly than words. It wasn't all that long ago that you destroyed thirteen of our ships over Kobol."

Baltar was lying on his side, and idly running his fingers up and down the curve of Sharon's spine. Her skin was hot to the touch … almost too hot. It was like this every time they made love.

"Gaius, we weren't attacking you! We were fighting the traitors, and your fleet jumped into the middle of it."

"That's not true, Sharon, and you know it. One of your baseships jumped away, and the other broke off the engagement with Natalie in order to launch an all-out attack on our fleet. I've seen the combat film. You switched targets less than a minute after we came out of jump."

"Mmm … that feels good." Sharon closed her eyes, and allowed herself to drift. "You have such gentle hands."

Baltar slapped her behind, and then leaned down to kiss her. "I can also play rough," he warned; "and I tend to do so when people try and play me for a fool."

"Oh, Gaius … now I understand why my brother finds it so frustrating to speak with you. I have also studied the battle. We were attacking Natalie's Raiders and Heavy Raiders, not your fleet. But the Six positioned her Heavy Raiders almost on top of your ships. She was using them as shields. She was daring us to attack her, and we did. It was a free-for-all, and some of your ships got caught up in it. My brother calls it 'collateral damage'. We regret your losses, but if you insist on getting mixed up in a cylon civil war …"

Sharon allowed the thought to dangle. She knew that Gaius could finish it for her.

Baltar settled down beside her, and allowed his fingers to wander through her hair. He had to admit that the Eight series had wonderfully expressive eyes, and hair that was almost a match for his own.

"So, when do you think that we'll catch up with the fleet?"

"I don't know," she admitted honestly.

"Of course you don't," the scientist snorted.

"I'm telling the truth!" Sharon nibbled on his lip, and stared him straight in the eyes. "We don't track your fleet; we track the hybrids. But for some reason, Kara and John have returned to the Colonies. We may not be able to find your fleet until they return."

"Wha … wha … _what? You know about your hybrid children?_"

Sharon looked at him with genuine puzzlement. "Gaius, I don't understand. Why does this surprise you?"

"Because Natalie … the Cylons … they've all told us that they discovered the hybrids by accident. John and Kara are supposed to be the product of a top-secret medical experiment. The birth mothers … the other babies … they were all slaughtered. Your civil war started when the rebel Cylons discovered the truth!"

"Well, they're lying," Sharon flared. "Gaius, I'm not an overseer or an infiltrator. I'm just an ordinary Eight … a maintenance worker. How could it be a secret if I know about it? And no one died, Gaius. Do you hear me? _No one died. _Ask. Go on. I'll come with you. Ask any of us. We all know about this supposed 'top-secret medical experiment'. How could you think otherwise?"

"But Major Bierns has confirmed everything that the Cylons have told us. _Everything!_"

"But that's not possible. Or maybe it is possible … but he's wrong, Gaius … _he's wrong_."

"But …" Baltar was so disconcerted that he was actually sputtering.

"Gaius, think. Was our child ever in Cylon hands before the traitors joined your fleet?"

"I don't know, but I think so … yes, I think so."

"Well, there's your answer. If the Twos, Threes, and Sixes captured him, they must have tortured him … programmed him with false memories. Gaius, you shouldn't trust my errant brothers and sisters. They have an agenda of their own. They're using your people as breeding stock. They want more hybrid children, but they don't give a damn about humans. You're just a means to an end."

"_My gods!_ That's exactly what Helena … what Admiral Cain said … _that the Cylons in the fleet are using us as livestock_!" And Bierns _had been_ savagely tortured. Everybody in the fleet had heard the rumors, but the fleet's top scientist knew the facts.

"And isn't it convenient that they now have a resurrection ship of their own? Gaius, you are mortal, but resurrection technology makes us immortal. Where does that leave humanity in a fully blended society? Inevitably, you will become slaves at best, and cattle at worst."

Baltar was reeling. The revelations had come too fast to digest, but one thing was indisputably clear: resurrection technology did a lot more than dominate the battlefield.

"_So what makes you different,"_ Gaius wailed. _"What's your agenda? _If you can find the fleet so easily, why haven't you come back to finish us off? You were merciless in the beginning; you came at us every thirty-three minutes for days on end!"

Once again the Eight looked at him in puzzlement. "I thought that my brothers explained all this to you and your president," she said. "We stopped attacking you when we located and decrypted Admiral Corman's personal files. How could we go on seeking your extermination once we learned that humanity at large was guiltless? But my brothers don't trust Admiral Adama; he was one of the warmongers, Gaius … and now he attacks us at every opportunity. So, the Ones want our two species to go their separate ways … a clean break. Personally," she said as she snuggled up against him, "I would like us to interact … but only as individuals. Surely you can see that at bottom my brothers are right. A blended society would quickly dissolve into castes … masters and slaves. And what do slaves do when given the chance? They revolt. The result would be tragedy heaped on top of tragedy, but the traitors either don't see this or they don't care. They want the children, and they will pay any price to get them."

"But what's the point of it all? I mean … you're right … mortals and immortals can't mix, but your hybrid children are mortal. So, what's the point?"

When the Eight replied, it was in the gratingly patronizing tone that adults used when trying to reason with very small children.

"Gaius … isn't it obvious?"

. . .

Lee Adama's eyes went wide, and he instinctively stepped away.

"_Sharon?"_

"That's right, Apollo," Boomer said mischievously. "Back from the dead … alive and reasonably well … and currently in search of a uniform. I'm returning to duty. Kara wants me to serve as her CAG on my baseship. Have you got anything around here that will fit me?"

"Uh … um … you could probably get by with my dress blues, at least for the time being. Your stuff was … uh … recycled after … you know …"

"Lee, it's all right. I've committed suicide so many times that I now have a private suite to call my very own on the resurrection ship. But I swear, if John ever fully recovers I'm going to beat the crap out of him. I never would have gone down this path if he had just told me the truth."

"I hear you. My dad's let him get away with murder … literally … and now he's freaking out half the fleet. My daughter … every day I wake up wondering whether she'll end up being this weird."

"Oh, she'll probably take after Kara. Still … congratulations, Lee; marrying a Cylon … having a hybrid baby … whatever happened to the hard-nosed Viper jock who hated everything about the Cylons? Have you seen him around lately?"

"Not for a while." Lee's grin faded quickly.

"Boomer … I …"

"Lee, let's go find your dress uniform, okay? I promised Naomi and Galen that I'd go with them to visit Helo and my sister before I head back to my own ship. But I also need to talk to you about being a CAG. Just what the frak am I supposed to do with over seven hundred Raiders?" With Naomi in tow, Apollo and Boomer departed the bay.

"That's Sonja Six's department," Lee noted as they walked along. "She and Kat run the Raider/Viper integration program. Did Kara mention that Kat's the CAG on their baseship?"

"_Kat's … a CAG? _When did you guys get so desperate?"

"Oh, Kat has the magic touch. She's got the Twos eating out of her hand, and in the fleet that counts for a lot."

"_Kat and Leoben_— that's amazing. Does she give lessons? None of us know what to do with our brothers."

"Here we are," Lee said when they reached the chamber that he normally shared with Creusa. "Uh, Naomi, would you … uh … give us a few minutes? I'd like to talk with Boomer in private."

The Eight simply nodded before retreating back down the corridor.

When they were alone, Apollo gathered up his dress uniform, which was draped over a chair in one corner of the room. All of the things that he had bought for Cyrene were still in the box that he had brought back from the _Prometheus_, and it was sitting in the same corner. Looking at it as he did now always brought a smile to Lee's lips, but he understood that it was just a matter of time before one of his future in-laws shared the tale of his epic odyssey on that fateful day with Boomer and the thousands of other Cylons on her ship. Some mistakes were easily forgotten, but others stuck for a lifetime.

"Boomer, I owe you an apology … a big one. When it turned out that you were a Cylon … after that I did everything I could to avoid you because I hated you. I wanted to see you flushed out of the nearest airlock—you and every other Cylon in our midst. All I could see was the machine; I lost track of the person. I always liked the person, despite the fact that you were the worst stick in the Colonial fleet!"

Apollo grinned, but it was forced and they both knew it. "I'm sorry, Boomer; I'm really … truly sorry for the way I treated you. I don't like that earlier incarnation of Lee Adama, and I hope never to see him again. I just hope that someday you'll be able to forgive me for the way I treated you. It won't happen again."

Boomer smiled warmly, reached out to clasp Lee by the shoulders, and kissed him gently on the cheek. "We all have a lot to answer for," she whispered consolingly. "You shot down the _Olympic Carrier_, and I nuked a baseship heavily populated by my sisters. It's forgiving ourselves that's the hard part. Maybe that's what the two of us need to work on."

. . .

"We appear to be trapped inside a paradox," the Blessed Mother observed, "but let us keep in mind that appearances can be deceiving."

Lacy Rand walked away from the precipice that overlooked Galatea Bay, and quickly reached the outer boundary of John's projection. When she turned to beckon Kara and John to join her, she was shocked at how small and distant they appeared to be. She knew that she had not taken all that many steps.

_It's a bubble,_ she decided. _This is a microscopically tiny world, and the horizon is actually very close._

She studied the emptiness ahead of her. It was a featureless gray. She thought of a room whose walls and ceilings were too distant to be seen, but this room did not even possess a floor. Curious, she picked up a pebble and tossed it beyond the boundary. It vanished as if it had never been.

The two hybrids came up to flank her. "This is as it should be," she remarked, "but that crimson wall most definitely should not be here. John, why did you create it?"

"Lacy, _I didn't_."

"Perhaps not consciously … but you did bring it into being. The question is why? What are you trying to tell us?"

"Lacy …"

"Hey, big brother, did you really conjure up a piano, or were you just kidding me?"

"It's there, Kara. I've put you down for the live entertainment around here."

"And how long did it take you to pull off this little parlor trick? I'm guessing that it took all of one second … two at the most."

"So?"

"John, I want you to expand Galatea Bay," Lacy instructed. "Cover this area with green pastures, with a slope that gently rises to a chain of snow-capped mountains on the horizon. Scatter various stands of evergreen trees on the lower slopes of the mountains, and sculpt enormous outcroppings of rock on the higher surfaces. Make it … oh … make it granite."

John looked at her curiously, but hastened to obey. He probed his memories, searching for a photograph or a postcard … something that he could use as a template. He found what he was seeking … concentrated … and a riot of swirling color began to coalesce in the waiting void. It did not take long. A mountain range quickly began to define the horizon, the range itself dominated by towering twin peaks.

"Ossa and Peleon," Lacy gestured approvingly. "Now, add a waterfall. Make it impressive enough easily to be seen from here."

John complied, and the Blessed Mother turned to Kara.

"Now, it's your turn. The waterfall should pool in a deep, dark lake, and from there a broad stream should meander across the plain, eventually to feed the three pools beside your house below."

Kara grinned from ear to ear. She _loved_ doing this stuff. She copied a lake in the mountains north of Delphi that she had visited many times, but she drew upon a very special memory to fashion the stream. Before he had abandoned his family, her stepfather had occasionally taken her fishing in a rock strewn brook just outside the city. She set it to twist back and forth across the plain, brought it right up to their feet, and then guided it over the precipice behind them.

But Kara was just getting started. She scattered clusters of deciduous trees across the plain, and filled the pastures themselves with a sea of yellow and violet wildflowers. She envisioned a lone eagle in the soaring currents overhead, tossed in a doe and her fawn as well as a whitetail deer with eight points on each side, and then added trout to the babbling brook. She stared at the still featureless sky, frowned for a moment, and decided to build a bank of fleecy white clouds that would forever march gently across the horizon from her left to her right.

"Uh … Kara … don't you think that you've overdone the antlers? Your buck is going to have a hard time standing upright, never mind galloping across the fields!" John had a very skeptical look on his face.

"_Sorry,"_ she grinned. "Okay, I admit it. I get carried away. You can sue me." Kara hastily deleted the improbable buck, and replaced it with a more conventional animal—one with four points on each side of the rack.

"The two of you do this so effortlessly," Lacy sighed. "You remind me so much of the avatars. The Zoe Graystone and Tamara Adama avatars had this same, wondrous ability."

"'Adama', did you say?" Kara eyed the old woman curiously. "Would she by any chance be related to the admiral?"

"Tamara was his half-sister, on his father's side. Tamara and Zoe died together, in a terrorist incident. One of my best friends blew up a MAGLEV train for the Soldiers of the One. More than five hundred people died in the explosion. I was supposed to be on that train, but I guess that it wasn't my time." Lacy's mind drifted insensibly back to those awful days; until John had come along, she hadn't thought about Zoe and Tamara in years.

"Well, never mind," she eventually went on. "I apologize for wandering off: taking refuge in the distant past is one of the few privileges of old age. Now, John, let's go see if we can delete this crimson monster of yours."

The Blessed Mother led them back to the edge of the cliff, but John's attempts first to erase and then to overwrite the bloody wave failed miserably. On impulse, he reached into his nightmares, pulled out the mirror, and allowed it to shatter on the ground at his feet. But when he stared down into the broken glass, it was not his own distorted image that stared back at him. The crimson tide was flowing relentlessly from one shard to the next, devouring everything in its path—but it failed to conceal the torn limbs and shattered skulls of the mountains of dead lurking beneath.

. . .

"Brother, you are truly exhausting my patience." Arms crossed, Creusa was staring down at the One, who was lying helplessly on a hospital bed that the Six had imported from _Galactica_ especially for this interrogation. She walked behind him, and turned the crank so that Cavil would be sitting more or less upright. When she walked back into his line of vision, she was holding a full bottle of ambrosia.

"But I'll give you credit … you've held up under questioning far better than I ever expected." She offered him the bottle. "Here … you've earned it."

Cavil reached out suspiciously with his right hand, and grabbed the bottle. Creusa had once again severed his Achilles tendons as well as the tendon in his left wrist, but she had left his right arm intact.

The One sniffed the contents, and then took a long pull on the bottle. He didn't know that he was already drunk, courtesy of a massive intravenous solution of the Chief's high octane hooch.

With a flourish, Cavil offered to share, but Creusa politely declined. "Can't," she said; "it's not good for the baby."

"So, you're actually going through with this? You're going to give birth to another abomi … abominashun?"

"Lee and I are going to have as many children as we can. A dozen sounds about right to us."

"Well, lots of frakkin' luck."

"Luck has nothing to do with it, brother. You know that better than most."

"Six, how many times are we going to play this game? I don't know where the Colony is. I haven't been there in years. Do you hear me? _I … don't … know._" Cavil took another swallow of the ambrosia.

"As much as it pains me to admit it, brother … I believe you. I've never even set foot on the Colony, and I have no idea where it's parked. At the end of the day, there's really no intrinsic reason why you should have the information that I require."

"So, can I go now?"

"Oh, finish your bottle first. If you're a good boy, I might even bring you a refill."

Creusa pulled up a chair and sat down. However, she was careful to remain just beyond the One's reach. She wouldn't put it past the bastard to try and break her neck in order to kill the baby.

"Don't you want to gloat? Why don't you toss off one of those wickedly witty observations with which you used to dazzle us? I'm particularly fond of the ones with the nihilistic punch-lines."

"What would be the point? You Sixes are such frak-ups." Cavil had finished half the bottle in only three swallows.

"Tell me again why you ran the breeding experiments. I love listening to your lies."

"_They're not lies," _Cavil protested. "You wanted kids … Sixes, Eights … even the frakkin' Threes. We wanted to see if it was posserble. Once we found out, we frakked you. How many mill … yon of times did we frak you? But it never happened."

Creusa waited patiently while the One downed still more of the bottle.

"That explains John, but not Kara. You only needed to run the experiment once to establish that we could have children. And why did you wait eight years before you ran the second test? As you say, I just don't see the point."

"We weren't ready," Cavil muttered.

"Oh, really," she scoffed. "You know what I think, brother? I think it took eight years for you to get your head out of your ass! You never really expected us to give birth, and when it happened you all stood around in a great big circle, hoping that somebody would be smart enough to figure out what to do next. And eight years later one of you self-proclaimed geniuses finally turned to the others and said … _'hey, I know … let's do it again, and see if we get the same results'!_" A lot of Kara Thrace had rubbed off on Creusa Six, and this was the payoff.

"Frak you, Six; there was a plan … _there was always a plan_! But the asshole screwed it up … frakkin' hybrid asshole."

"Some plan," Creusa sneered. "You let a thirteen year old boy vanish without a trace, and eight years later he came back for his sister. The CSS was using Kara as bait, did you know that? They were just waiting to reel you in …"

"_A frakkin' lot of good it did um," _Cavil yelled. "Where's the high and mighty CSS now, Six? Huh? You tell me … gonna have dinner tonight with good ole Gen … gen … genral Watts His Face, are you? Not frakking likely," he gloated. Cavil finished off the ambrosia in one long pull, and tossed the bottle carelessly on the floor. It shattered into dozens of green tainted, wickedly pointed shards—every one of them a potentially lethal weapon.

Creusa's nostrils flared, and she got up and walked out of the room. She returned a minute later with a fresh bottle. _I'm so damned close,_ her brain was screaming. _It's time to roll the hard six!_ She tore the cap loose, and took a long drink before tossing the bottle to the One. He caught it in mid-air, but the liquor was spilling all over the bed.

"Plan … _there was no frakking plan, you asshole! There never was a frakking plan! _We were going to finish off humanity … and then what, brother? Become tourists? Sit around and watch the stars go supernova until we got bored? _There was no plan,_"she screamed.

"_Earth … we were gonna find Earth and finish off the rest of the meat sacs! _We're machines, Six. Who gives a frak whether it takes us five years to find Earth, or five thousand? Kill off Earth. Kill off anything in this galaxy that moves … and then build the Cylon Imperium … a machine civilization spanning the galaxy!"

"Wonderful," she clapped; "oh, that sounds like so much fun! Slaughter everything and everybody in sight and then fill the void with a few, lousy million of us. That's the plan? That's your wonderful plan?"

"That's just for starters," Cavil gloated. "Finish off this galaxy, and then move on … to the next one, and the next. We're forever, Six, and we can have it all! There's no power in the universe that can stop us!"

"You're mad," Creusa gasped. _"You're frakking insane!"_

"Frak off, Six! The limit of your vision is that freak growing in your belly!"

"So, where does Kara fit into the grand design? Are you bored with your human slaves?"

Creusa studied the One closely.

"You bastard … you absolute, perverted bastard … I don't frakking believe it. You've developed a taste for hybrids, haven't you? You want some new toys to play around with!"

"Act your age, Six! We need them … well, not the boy … he doesn't matter anymore. But the girl … yeah, for sure … we need the girl. We can't get there without her."

"_Oh, that's rich,"_ Creusa roared with mock approval. "The whole mad plan of universal conquest hinges around one lone hybrid child! Where's your sense of humor, One? How could you possibly miss the irony in that? What is the frakking point of building this mighty imperium of yours if it takes a hybrid to get us there? And what's so special about Kara? It's John. John's the one who handed you your ass over Caprica … over Kobol. When his mind merged with our hybrid, he became the most dangerous force in the uni … verse."

Creusa's voice trailed off. In one blinding moment of crystalline insight, the Six had finally arrived at the truth.

. . .

"Should I be worried?" Colonel Phillips swiftly glanced around the chamber. "I mean, this is taking a long time!"

"Relax, Colonel." Larissa lifted one of Kara's eyelids, but she already knew what she would find. "She does this every day, sometimes for hours on end. It can be disconcerting until you get used to it, but believe me … this is nothing compared to watching her telepathically link with her baseship."

"_Gods,"_ Phillips muttered. He would never have believed that someone who looked so normal could be so alien.

"There's no reason to be alarmed." Leoben was kneeling beside his niece, and watching her intently. "At first, she was puzzled. Then, something happened that filled her with joy. Now, the three of them are hard at work trying to solve the mystery. This baseship is watching over her. If something goes wrong, you'll know it."

"Uh … excuse me," Andrea Minor interrupted, "but Colonel Phillips and I are both new at this game. What do you mean—we'll 'know it'?"

"Kara and I were working on a duty roster when John first got into trouble. She collapsed, and the baseship began to … hemorrhage blood."

"_What?"_

"Lieutenant, baseships are organic. When Kara started vomiting up blood, the baseship …"

Larissa was searching for words, but in truth neither she nor Leoben could meaningfully describe what had happened.

"Blood began to ooze out of the walls all over the ship," Leoben explained. "We don't know whether she was responding to what John was seeing in his mind, or to Kara's seizure."

"Just out of curiosity," Phillips asked, "is this ship also female?"

Leoben nodded. "Not only this ship; I suspect that our entire fleet is female."

"Well, it makes sense doesn't it?" Andrea looked at her superior. "Have you ever heard anyone refer to a ship as masculine?"

"No," Phillips conceded.

"We sometimes refer to _Galactica_ as 'the old girl', Larissa pointed out. "It's been this way since the beginning of time. It makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

Leoben waited for her to say more.

"If cylon ships were male, then this truly would be a fight to the finish."

. . .

"Let me try," Kara cut in. A second mirror materialized, and she deposited this one gently on the ground.

"Hmm," Lacy said; "blood … corpses … various and sundry body parts. It reminds me of the night when Odin Sinclair and the U-87's helped me get rid of the previous occupant of my office. Coups are always nasty business. But the scale of this is … daunting." Lacy gestured at the image in the mirror.

"You killed your predecessor? _Wow!_" Kara's respect for the Blessed Mother jumped several more notches.

Lacy patted Kara's wrist. "My dear, the STO didn't just go out of business. _I put them out of business._"

"The Blessed Mother has a mean and vicious streak, which is a highly desirable quality in the leader of any church." John was laughing hard. "She's run the Church of the Monad with an iron fist for sixty years now."

"Fifty-nine, John … and you're far too young to be such a hardened cynic. You'll set a poor example for your daughters."

"Sorry, Mother."

"Let's get back to business," Lacy said firmly. "John, when you look at this, are you seeing the past or the future?"

"Neither … both … I can't tell." He shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, this is what I keep seeing, but I have no idea what it means."

"What about the hybrids? Your sisters seem to be dying here by the hundreds … perhaps the thousands." She looked at him shrewdly. "Is my daughter here, John?"

The First Born nodded unhappily. "It's why they're all avoiding me, especially Deirdre."

"Wait a second," Kara interrupted. _"The hybrids are your daughters?"_

"No, Kara; you misunderstand. When Deirdre became pregnant, John came to me and asked if I would marry them. I was never licensed by the government to preside over marriages, and no certificate was ever filed in the Hall of Records down in Illumini, so it was all highly irregular … but I did perform a ceremony, right down there on the beach. But Deirdre did not have a family name, so I adopted her. She became Deirdre Rand so that she could then become Deirdre Bierns. All the necessary paperwork is filed away in the rectory; in due course, I'll fill out an affidavit of birth for Ariadne as well."

"Uh … Reverend Mother … have you performed _a lot_ of virtual weddings?" It was beginning to dawn on Kara that if conversations with her brother were surreal, conversations with Lacy Rand redefined the meaning of the word. What really freaked her out, however, was that both of them seemed to take it all in stride.

Lacy Rand sighed deeply. "Child, you are _so _young. Weddings and funerals were big business in New Cap City … _big business_. Besides, all of this pales alongside a good, old-fashioned exorcism."

"Mother," John warned.

"Oh, all right. Kara, let's try you: past or future?"

"Both," she confidently replied. "You're looking at the history of the universe, encapsulated in a single image."

"Well, that can't be good. So, let's see." Lacy walked slowly around the two mirrors, the one shattered and the other whole. She studied the images carefully, and kept reminding herself that here the rules of the outside universe didn't apply. Here, the images could slither, and they could scream.

"All right … the hybrids are standing on a mountain of corpses, and a bloody sea rises to suck them down. The two of you are the last survivors, only your bodies are ripped in half. Your legs remain anchored in place, but the Furies carry everything from the waist up off to the heavens. Over the endless screaming of your drowning sisters, you hear the voices of a distant god, only it's confusing because it's a singular voice coming out of the million mouths of the entity known as John Cavil."

Lacy Rand was seventy-five years old, and she had stared directly into the face of Evil more than once during the course of her long life. She knew John Cavil well; in an earlier age, he had worn the face of Clarice Willow. There was really only one more question to ask.

"The past … the present … and the future," she summarized. She pointed towards Galatea Bay, and then the horizon. "Order, Chaos … the eternal struggle."

The Blessed Mother grasped John Bierns gently by the shoulders. "Child, tell us … did this all start before or after you learned that your Eight was pregnant?"

"After, Mother," he whispered in response. "You're right; I'm an idiot."

"So," Kara surmised, "this never had anything to do with the concussions. He's projecting his fears for the baby."

"You're both idiots," Lacy sharply replied. "Kara, do you always jump to conclusions like this?"

"I don't understand. You just said …"

"No, I didn't … and this has _everything_ to do with John's concussions. They're unlocking memories that we've never seen before … memories that center on the hybrids, and run from them in a straight line into a future in which Chaos displaces Order. But the future is not fixed; it threatens, but at this point John Cavil is a threat and nothing more. But where do the two of you fit in? _That's the question._"

. . .

"Madame President … how are you feeling?"

Bill and Shelly had indeed decided to make an impromptu visit to _Colonial One_. The fleet was awash with rumors, and the general mood was growing increasingly anxious. Bill had made a fleet wide announcement, which papered over the abrupt departure of _their_ baseship as a scheduled return to the Colonies in search of survivors and supplies. And then he had held his breath. More than two hundred Sixes and Eights had been left stranded throughout the fleet, and less than half a dozen of them had a security detail in tow. Bill had envisioned rioting and even the odd lynching, but mercifully, in the twenty-eight hours since Natalie's departure there had not been a single incident. Either the captains were getting better at maintaining internal security, he thought, or the Six with no name and her cohort of black marketers were policing the fleet with grim efficiency.

"Physically, I'm okay; but emotionally? Emotionally, I'm a wreck. I feel like I've been run over by a bus, and I never saw it coming."

Shelly waited for Billy to finish serving tea and sit down before she responded. Tory Foster and Billy Keikeya both knew about Laura Roslin's transfusion, so the Six knew that she could speak openly.

"Madame President, did you experience a general sense of anxiety, or was it something more specific?"

"Shelly, I was bathing in blood … I was _drowning_ in it. There was blood and corpses everywhere. I have never been as frightened in my life as I was yesterday … _and _I'm told that every oracle in the fleet got hit with the same vision. What happened?"

"In your case, Madame President, I'm afraid that the answer lies in the blood that you received from Kara Thrace. You have become an adjunct member of the hybrid network, and yesterday you received a vision that John unwittingly transmitted across the whole of it. When Sharon and Giana return, it will be interesting to see whether you can sense Hera and Sherman's presence."

"I see." Laura leaned forward and studied Shelly. "How about you- did you also reap this particular whirlwind?"

"No, Madame President, I did not. Callista is still unaware. Creusa felt it, but she recovered quickly. Cyrene seems to have been on the outer edge of this quake."

"Well, I'm glad that the two of you are all right," Laura sighed. "But the oracles aren't hybrids. How did they get caught up in this?"

"I am beginning to wonder," Shelly said carefully, "whether we fully understand what we're dealing with here. We have all assumed that John and Kara's abilities stem exclusively from their hybrid nature. I do not wish to discount this, but we may have underestimated the degree to which some level of psychic ability is also involved. Perhaps we should see the hybrid children as gifted in many ways, and capable of sharing some of these gifts with elements of the larger human community around them."

"What do you think, Bill?"

"Madame President, I prefer to deal in facts, not speculation. I came here to report to you on the state of the fleet." Bill abruptly decided to emphasize the positive rather than talk about improved security. "There are over two hundred Cylons currently scattered across forty odd ships, and so far there have been no incidents. There is an increased level of tension, but it is directly related to the baseship's departure. It is now apparent that the general populace finds it a comforting presence. The uprising five weeks ago cost us, but it also allowed a lot of people to vent, and things appear to have settled down nicely. The Eights in particular have made enormous strides; they work hard, and they work without complaint. They seem able to form relationships quite easily."

"Puppy dog eyes," Billy Keikeya inadvertently blurted out.

"What did you say, Billy?"

The young presidential advisor blushed. "I'm sorry, Madame President …"

"No, Billy, go on. You're a young man without attachments. We're all interested in your perspective." Laura encouraged him to continue.

"Well, when one of the Sharons looks at me a certain way, I just get all … squishy inside. I have this irresistible urge to hug her and tell her that everything's going to be all right. Puppy dog eyes, Madame President; that's the best way I can phrase it. I know rationally that they're not helpless, but down in my gut I just feel this compulsive need to protect them. It's hard to explain."

_Squishy? _"Billy, are you protecting the entire series," Shelly asked with amusement, "or have you concentrated your attention on one Eight in particular?"

"Don't answer her, Billy," Laura laughingly ordered. "We do not need to know the sordid details!"

"This was bound to happen, Madame President. Small things matter," Tory said with a straight face.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that the Cylons attacked us at 7 o'clock on a Monday morning Caprica City time, and in many ways this has predetermined our fate. Who is in the air at that hour? The passenger manifests are overwhelmingly dominated by well-educated, urban males in their mid-twenties to early forties. Sales reps … men going out to service contracts … a totally different mix than would have been the case at, say, 4 o'clock on Sunday afternoon. The gender imbalance in the fleet has always posed a significant social problem, but the Threes, Sixes, and Eights are making the problem disappear right before our eyes."

"_Bierns! You sneaky son of a bitch! _Laura Roslin would have bet a million cubits that, if she bothered to look closely, she would find the telltale fingerprints of the Colonial Secret Service all over those passenger manifests.

"Madame President, are you curious to test the limits of your new-found abilities?" The expression on Shelly's face was one of complete disinterest, but she could not quite contain the excitement in her voice.

"What do you have in mind?"

"I suggest that you pay a visit to the resurrection ship. Perhaps you can now … connect … with the hybrid."

"Surely you don't mean …"

"Oh, but I do, Madame President." Shelly smiled at the human leader, but it was the smile of a co-conspirator. "And there's only one way to find out!"

. . .

Creusa caught up with Shelly, Bill, and Laura just outside the hybrid's chamber. She had no idea what had brought them to the resurrection ship, and their interest in the hybrid simply mystified her.

Bill opened his arms, and Creusa rushed forward to embrace him. He hugged her close.

"Are you okay," he whispered into her ear.

"I'm fine," she whispered in return.

"You've been drinking," Bill said with a frown.

"A little," Creusa admitted; "it's part of my new and improved interrogation technique."

"Have you learned anything worthwhile?"

"A lot, and none of it good … but father, what are you doing here?" Creusa glanced over his shoulder at the young man and woman standing quietly in the background. They were not in uniform, so she guessed that they had come with the President rather than the Admiral.

"We're here to see the hybrid. What's her name again?"

"Cassandra."

"Creusa, are you good at keeping secrets?" Laura Roslin was staring at her fixedly.

"Cylons don't indulge in gossip, Madame President, but we Sixes are curious by nature." She was broadly hinting that she wanted someone to tell her what was going on.

"I have been sharing John's visions, and Shelly believes that this is a side-effect of a radical cancer treatment that I underwent a month ago. Kara gave me some of her blood … and it worked. Her hybrid blood cured my advanced, terminal cancer in a matter of hours. We are here to find out what else it might do."

"You're going to try and link with the hybrid," Creusa gasped. "You're going to try and find John!"

"Precisely … and I would very much appreciate it if you would keep this information to yourself. Share it with no one."

"Agreed … but Madame President, if this works … you need to talk to John. Tell him that the Cavils are insane … that they're planning to destroy Earth, and then embark on a program of galactic conquest. And he needs to know about Kara's connection with her baseship. Make sure he understands that baseships are alive and constantly evolving, and remind him of the nine year gap that separates him from Kara. I'm connecting a lot of dots here, Madame President, so I don't want to say too much. He needs to work out the pattern for himself."

"This is all about the vision, isn't it? The wall of blood that devours everything in its wake, the mountains of corpses …"

"Yes, Madame President. If I'm right, Kara is in mortal danger—and with her every hybrid child whom we conceive."

. . .

The blood spattered centurion stood silently in the corner. It was immobile; even its sensor was fixed in place. It did not want to draw attention to itself because it was in a quandary. It had been thirty-five days since the machine had last communicated with the First Born, and his brother's instructions were explicit: _if something happens to me … if I die or disappear for a protracted length of time … say a month … bring Kara Thrace here. If something happens to Kara as well, then bring Shelly Adama. _Something had happened to the First Born, and he had disappeared for more than a month. The Second Born was also gone, but nothing had actually happened to her. And now the Architect was standing before him. Every centurion on the ship was caught up in a high frequency electronic debate: should they escort the Architect to the Well of the Five?

. . .

"_What the hell?"_

John Bierns was standing on the edge of the cliff, studying the beach spread out beneath him. Two figures had just materialized at the water's edge. Even from a distance he recognized Cassandra, but the second person was so completely out of place that he had to rub his eyes just to make sure.

"_Laura Roslin?"_

"_What?"_ Kara turned away from the Blessed Mother and scanned the beach. "_How in the name of the gods did she get here? And why is she with Cassie?"_

"Does she have a holoband," Lacy asked. There was no missing the urgency in her voice.

"Who the frak knows," John breathed. _"Gods, Roslin can ruin everything! If Deirdre shows up while she's here …"_

"_John, calm down!" _Kara had grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, and twisted him around. "Listen to me! Pelea can't come here, so as long as you don't mention Deirdre by name, Roslin won't figure it out. She knows five hybrids by name, and five is the most that she'll see!"

"Kara, Deirdre's eight months pregnant. _How the hell are we supposed to hide that?_"

"You dazzle her with your usual bullshit! Make the waterfall run _up _the cliff. Bring the Caprica Symphonic Orchestra in to play Nomian's 3rd Sonata. _It doesn't matter. _Just convince her that you can do anything you want in here and it'll be okay!"

"I need to get down there," Lacy said. "I'll distract her." The Blessed Mother derezzed. . . .

"Reverend Mother, is everything all right?" Caprica was kneeling at Lacy's side, and staring at her with anxious eyes.

Deep in thought, Lacy Rand was unconsciously tapping the holoband against her palm. "I'm not sure," she finally admitted, "but this is certainly the most interesting day that I've had in many, many years. Now, if you'll excuse me." Lacy fixed the holoband in place, and returned to Galatea Bay. . . .

_Words cannot do justice to this place._ Laura Roslin was transfixed. There was unimaginable beauty at every turn. . . .

"So, another of my children has come home."

Cassandra whirled at the sound of the unexpected voice, and a look of profound shock passed across her face.

"_Reverend Mother,"_ she exclaimed. Cassandra rushed forward and knelt to kiss the hem of Lacy's robe.

The Blessed Mother ran her fingers affectionately through the hybrid's hair. "Child," she chided, "I sincerely hope that you are not wearing lipstick. I have to wash this habit often enough as it is! Now," she said sternly, "tell me your name."

"Cassandra, Reverend Mother … we haven't met."

"_You're her mother," _Roslin croaked.

"Of course not, Laura, but … the hybrids are without family, so I have gotten into the habit of adopting them. They are all my daughters now. By the way, I am the Blessed Mother of the Church of the Monad, but if you dare to use my title even once I shall pick up that piece of driftwood at your feet and beat you over the head with it. My name is Lacy Rand."

Laura looked down in surprise. She would have sworn that the driftwood hadn't been there a minute earlier. . . .

"You know, big brother, if we actually can sprout wings and fly, now would be the time. We'd make one hell of an entrance." Kara and John were still standing atop the cliff.

"Yeah, but crashing into the sea might ruin the effect," he countered. "So, let go of my hand. We'll both rejoin the land of the living, and then I'll take us in." Kara obediently relaxed her grip. . . .

Kara swam back to the surface, yawned, and stretched. She looked casually around the chamber, and then her eyes came to rest on Lacy Rand's holoband. _I have got to get me one of those,_ she thought. . . .

John rolled over, his eyes bright and alert. He smiled affectionately at the Eight, and then leaned forward to kiss her. _"Hi," _he breathed.

"Hey, superspy, before this goes any further … did you know that you have an audience?"

Bierns turned his head to look over his shoulder. "Kara, don't you have to go to the bathroom or something?"

"What have you learned?" Leoben was earnestly looking back and forth between the two of them.

"Well … gee … so far about the only thing we know for sure is that we're both idiots," Kara sarcastically commented. "And it's getting really crowded in there. We may have to put up a hotel."

"Speaking of crowds," she went on, "don't any of you people have jobs to do?"

"Ignore her, Leoben. She's upset because I won't give her wings and let her play at being an angel."

Andrea Minor shook her head in disbelief. "Do the two of you ever let up?"

"Nah," Kara smiled sweetly; "we're just being our usual obnoxious selves!"

"It looks like the Cavils have a serious grudge against life itself," John soberly remarked , "and that the hybrids are at the center of whatever's going on, but right now that's as far as the Blessed Mother has got. We're too stupid to figure it out on our own, so we're relying upon her to solve the puzzle."

"But you kept screaming _'I know, I know', _Gina objected. "You said it over and over again. You've found the answer, John; it's locked away somewhere inside you."

"Then I'm hiding from the truth," the First Born tersely answered; "and it isn't magically going to surface inside this room." He kissed his beloved Eight again, and then rolled over to confront Kara. "Come on, baby sister; it's time for us to rejoin the party."

The two of them clasped hands, and returned to Galatea Bay. . . .

"Ah, there you are. What took you so long," the Blessed Mother asked.

"When it comes to privacy," Kara smirked, "big brother has cylon sensibilities. Everything got put on hold while John and the Eight … uh … renewed their acquaintance."

"She's exaggerating, Mother … and she's also jealous."

"Like hell!"

"Stop it, you two! You're acting like a pair of six year olds. Enough is enough!"

"Excuse me, Major, but I am very confused. I didn't really expect Cassandra to be able to bring me here, but it's now obvious that the hybrid blood I received from Kara has unusual properties."

"_What?" _John whipped around and stared accusingly at Kara. "You gave her a transfusion?"

"Well … yeah; I mean … you promised her, but you weren't around, so I did it for you."

"Well, that solves one mystery," Lacy interceded.

"What I didn't expect to find," Laura went on to say, ignoring the interruption … "is the two of you behaving so normally. I was mentally preparing myself to confront the end of the world."

"Oh, that's just over the horizon," Lacy noted with a hint of smugness.

"_Huh,"_ Laura and Cassandra both simultaneously exclaimed.

"From atop the cliff, you can witness the end of the world quite clearly," Lacy added.

"I still say that this is about Eirene," Kara stubbornly insisted. "John's fears for the baby are perfectly normal … _but he's broadcasting them to half the frakkin' universe!_"

"Kara, you really are an idiot," the Blessed Mother sighed.

"Major … you have a daughter?" Laura was stunned.

"The pregnancy is not far advanced, Madame President … only about three weeks. But yes, I'm going to have a little girl."

It was at about this point that Deirdre, Reun, Circe, and Olivia decided to join the fun.

. . .

"Uh … Tory … what do you think? Should we prepare a press release or something?"

Billy Keikeya and Tory Foster were still in the hybrid's chamber, together with the Six who was carrying Captain Apollo's child. Shelly had taken Bill on a tour of the resurrection ship, which he had never visited before. Whether Laura Roslin was also in the chamber depended strictly upon one's point of view.

"I don't think the President wants to draw attention to her presence here," Tory replied, but Billy could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

"True, but the press is bound to ask questions. Playa Palacios seems to have a sixth sense about this sort of thing."

"Yeah, you're right. We'd better come up with something. You got any ideas?"

"I was thinking … maybe … the President came here to observe a download in progress? You know, talk to a Six or an Eight coming straight out of the vat … maybe welcome her to the fleet?"

Tory thought about it for a few seconds before nodding in agreement. "That sounds like it should work. Tell you what, Billy. I'll stay here with the President, and you go find one of the Eights and set something up. And see if you can locate some food. I'm getting hungry."

"Okay."

Billy headed off, but he had absolutely no sense of direction, and the corridors on Cylon ships all looked pretty much the same anyway. It wasn't long before he had to admit that he was totally lost.

"Can I help you?"

Billy was standing at a T junction, and the soft voice so badly startled him that he almost jumped out of his skin. When he turned around, he found himself looking down at an Eight. She was wearing dark trousers, with a soft white sweater. Her hair was thick and shiny, and on both sides it hung down to rest upon her shoulders, framing flawless skin that struck him as somewhat darker than that of the Eights whom he had seen in _Galactica's_ corridors. Billy Keikeya suddenly found it hard to breathe.

"Oh, hi," he finally managed to stutter. "I guess I'm lost."

"You look lost," she said with a smile. She couldn't imagine the tall, gangly human looking anything but lost. "What's your name?"

"Oh … uh … Billy … I'm … uh … Billy Keikeya."

"Did you come here with President Roslin?"

"Yeah … I'm … uh … one of her assistants. I was trying to find something to eat, but I also wanted to try and arrange for the President to watch a Cylon download while she's here. You know, shake her hand or something to welcome her to the fleet?"

"What a wonderful idea!" The Eight was positively beaming—and Billy Keikeya now found that, in addition to all of his other problems, he had suddenly gone weak in the knees.

"I love your hair," he blurted out, and then he started blushing. He couldn't begin to imagine where that had come from. "Sorry," he said as he blushed a shade darker; "I'm not very good with women."

"I can tell," the Eight said with amusement. Her eyes were alight with merriment, which nicely concealed the fact that she was busily accessing a variety of subroutines. _Awkward but cute,_ her onboard processors rapidly decided. "You haven't even asked me my name."

"Oh, I … uh … just assumed that you were a Sharon."

"_Wrong,"_ she laughed. "We have too many Sharons as it is. My name is Rebecca, but you can call me Becky."

"Rebecca? Wow! That's a great name … one of my favorites."

"Really? Billy … is that short for William?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Billy is actually a boy's name, but I'm kind of stuck with it because I'm the kid brother. Two older sisters plus an older brother made me the baby of the family."

"Becky and Billy … Rebecca and Will … I like Rebecca and Will better. What do you think?"

"It sounds great. Rebecca and Will … I like it."

"Come on; let's go find you some food." Rebecca reached out to take Billy by the hand and guide him along the correct corridor. "Afterwards … do you think the President would like to greet a Six or an Eight?"

. . .

"_Child, don't even think about trying to kneel before me,"_ the Blessed Mother said sternly. "If you insist upon going through the usual rigmarole, you may kiss my ring instead."

"Thank you, Reverend Mother," Deirdre replied as she stepped forward formally to greet Lacy Rand.

"And as for the rest of you," she added indulgently, "I want you on your feet now!"

"The three other hybrids scurried to obey.

"Major," Laura said with a frown, "I'm completely lost." She gestured at the tall but heavily pregnant hybrid. "This young woman looks like she's going to give birth any minute now. Is this your Eirene?"

"Ah, now we're talking about Ariadne," Kara said gleefully. _"John's other daughter!"_

"Huh?"

"He has a _blossoming_ relationship with an Eight on Olivia's baseship." Kara gestured in the direction of one of her statuesque sisters. "Eirene is their love child; _this_ is Ariadne." She gently patted Deirdre's belly.

"Uh … Major … there's really no delicate way to put this. Are you aware that this young woman is actually your half-sister?"

John Bierns had the decency to blush. "Yes, Ma'am; Kara recently brought it to our attention … _quite recently_. But it changes nothing." The First Born held Deirdre close. "We may be brother and sister, but we're also husband and wife, and we love one another and our daughter very much. Our relationship is what it is."

Lacy Rand loudly clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. "Children, do I have to remind you that we are here for a reason? There's a tsunami of blood just beyond the horizon—the same tsunami that we've all seen devouring life everywhere. It is a premonition of disaster that is based upon something in our past … something real that is embedded deep in John's memories … something that is nibbling at the edge of his conscious mind. We are in the presence of great evil, but we cannot fight it until first we confront it."

"I may be able to help," Laura suggested.

Everyone looked at her expectantly.

"Major, Creusa has managed to pry some information out of the Cavils. She characterized them as a collection of megalomaniacs—madmen intent upon destroying the human race, including the people of the Thirteenth Tribe, preliminary to some grandiose scheme of galactic conquest. I'm not exactly sure why, but she asked me to remind you that the baseships are living organisms, and that they are capable of evolving. Have you been made aware of the fact that Kara is genetically related to her baseship? Doctor Cottle says that Kara's connection is unique; you don't share it."

The First Born glanced swiftly at his sister. _"Kara?"_

"Yeah, it's true. My baseship … and the one you're on now … they both talk to me a lot."

"_And you didn't think that the genetic link was important enough to mention?" _John was absolutely incredulous.

"Creusa also wanted me to stress that the nine year gap separating the two of you is, in her judgment, significant. Major, the last thing she said to me was that you would see the pattern. _'Kara is in mortal danger—and with her every hybrid child whom we conceive'. _Those were her exact words."

"_Of course,"_ Lacy murmured, _"how could I have missed it?"_ She looked at Kara and John, and a great wave of pity surged through her. _The pair of you never had a chance. It was always going to come down to this._

Inside John Bierns, the cold-blooded CSS agent had asserted himself. His agile mind was racing— sifting, collating, and analyzing odds bits of data that took the form of very old memories. . . .

"_Three, I'm going to send your pup to live with the humans. Our collective's myopic obsession with consensus doesn't generate the stimuli the whelp will need to grow. Ah, but humans, with their petty ambitions and jealousies, their fears and fantasies, and above all else, their pathetic need for love—they'll push him in all sorts of interesting directions."_

"_She has an honest-to-goodness aunt. A colonial marine no less … and she's married to a shiftless daydreamer. Can you imagine it, Six? Your little girl is going to be raised by a frustrated noncom and a worthless pianist. Such a frakked up family will surely bring out the best in her!"_

Lacy Rand was watching John, and she saw the knowledge slam home. She looked at Deirdre and Reun, complete innocents for whom, in this strange and wonderful place, she had developed a deep sense of affection. A fierce, burning anger began to well up inside her. She would not permit John Cavil to sacrifice everything that she loved on the altar of his runaway ambitions. He had done damage enough, and now she would end him.

John Bierns' steps carried him unknowingly down to the water's edge, and he stared blindly out to sea. He stayed that way for a long time, oblivious to Kara's presence when she hesitantly came to stand at his side. She hadn't lived his memories, and she was wholly ignorant of what underpinned them. There had been so much death. He could see it now—the endless experiments on the human captives taken by the millions … entire generations of Cylons brutally swept aside. Kara didn't know, but the hybrids must have suspected the truth: small wonder that his sisters were now so afraid of him, for how could they not fear the apocalypse? John sensed the Blessed Mother approach, felt the reassuring presence of her arm around his waist.

"We'll fight him, child … we'll fight him with everything we've got."

"I know, Mother." He gently patted her arm, but his eyes remained locked in place, staring unseeingly at the horror that lay just beyond the horizon.

Kara Thrace and Laura Roslin were both studying them nervously. The two women had yet to claw their way through to the truth.

Behind him, John Bierns heard Deirdre softly begin to cry. The First Born wanted to console his wife, but he had no glib lies to offer her. More than the others, he thought, she must have known that this was neither a psychotic episode nor a nightmare signaling an impending nervous breakdown. There was only truth here, the pattern of it plain enough for anyone to see—and the taste was unbelievably bitter.

"He wants to harvest us," John said, his voice so disturbingly gentle. "Both of us, Kara … ah, but Cavil covets you much more than me. You are the harbinger of death."

"I don't understand!" Kara was trembling, an incredibly frightened child whose limbs were now rooted to the ground.

"His grandiose schemes of imperial conquest ultimately depend upon the simple application of superior force, and he can get there because the baseships are constantly evolving … becoming ever more deadly. But it's not just the baseships that have to evolve; the hybrids must also become increasingly sophisticated. The first hybrid, a creature known to the Cylons as the Guardian, refused to let go of his human constructs. Our sisters, on the other hand, have never embraced them. Cavil sees both as failures. What he seeks is the perfect synthesis—a hybrid that is completely attuned to the ship … yet one that combines machine efficiency with human intuition. He wants a machine endowed with the uniquely human gift for improvisation."

"_No!"_

"That's why he expelled us … drove us away from our family. He wanted us to suffer … wanted us to end up in situations where we would have to adapt to survive. There's no substitute for experience," John bitterly observed. . . .

"_No! I don't believe you! It's not possible!" _Kara Thrace was screaming in both dimensions … and in both dimensions tears were streaming down her cheeks. The Cylons and humans looked helplessly at one another, their collective sense of alarm increasing by the second. . . .

"We're battle computers, Kara—nothing more and nothing less. That's all we've ever been. And I showed him what we could do. God, forgive me … over Caprica … over Kobol … the supply convoy … I showed him what we could do. Now, he'll never relent."

"_Oh gods, no … please … please … kill me! Don't let this happen!" _Kara was screaming, her pain infinite, because now she could see it all. Her body being torn in half … the meaning that had been hidden behind the apocalyptic vision from the very beginning was now suddenly, appallingly clear.

"It's not just us, Kara. Creusa's right. Callista … Cyrene … there'll be a time when the embryos of each and every one of our hybrid children will be susceptible to genetic manipulation. As long as Cavil's out there, the children will never be safe."

"Then we fight," she whispered; "Lacy's right … we fight with everything we've got. But John, I want you to promise me …"

Kara looked him straight in the eye; she had to be sure.

"If something goes wrong … if it comes down to a choice …"

"I will, Kara; I promise you." John Bierns' expression was both grim and determined. "You and my daughter both … and may God have mercy on my soul."


	36. Chapter 36: Impasse

CHAPTER 36

IMPASSE

"Listen to me! Please … listen to me! At bottom, I agree with the President. I want to make that abundantly clear. We can relieve the overcrowding on our ships by transferring some of our people to the Cylon baseships, and I'm confident that it is now safe for us to do so. These Cylons are our allies, and I can't conceive of a circumstance that's going to change this new reality."

Tom Zarek surveyed his audience. He was on the _Gemenon Traveller_, openly canvassing for votes. He was a candidate for the presidency, but the election was less than two months away, and he wasn't about to kid himself. He was trailing Laura Roslin in every poll, and when he factored in the sampling errors, he was trailing badly. Roslin had the Caprican vote locked up, along with the Picon and Libran, but the one-time terrorist's grip on the Aerilon and Sagittaron blocs was just as secure. The election would turn on the Gemenese, and Zarek couldn't fathom why they would give Roslin the time of day. The Capricans were hard-core polytheists, and they scorned the Gemenese for their ongoing infatuation with monotheism. Over ninety percent of the Gemenese in the fleet were monotheists—the last followers of a religious tradition that had been ridiculed and oppressed for countless generations. The Gemenese and Sagittarons were natural allies. _Or at least,_ Zarek mentally corrected himself, _they should be. Why haven't I been able to make deeper inroads here?_

"But the President is acting like a dictator," Zarek shouted as he raised his palms to plead for calm. "That's the difference between us. Roslin's issuing orders, telling us all that if you have a particular set of skills, then you're going to be sent to the baseship whether you like it or not. We're not being given a choice in the matter! Well, I happen to think that this is still a democracy … that we still have individual liberties … and that this is intolerable! My administration will never treat our people like slaves! We Sagittarons have a long history of being treated like second or third-class citizens … of being little more than chattels of the Caprican conglomerates—and I'm not going to forget my roots! I'll offer you inducements to move- bigger quarters, better food- but I'm not going to put a gun to your head! Even Commander Six has learned this lesson. She has more humanity in her little finger than Roslin has in her whole body! Our people on the _Monarch_ and the _Majahual_ work long hours, but thanks to Natalie Six they now have access to luxury suites on _Cloud Nine_. Natalie Six compensates us for our labor, but not Laura Roslin! Oh, no … the queen bee of the Caprican hive wants us all to labor at her command; she wants us to settle for whatever scraps she deigns to throw us from her well-stocked table. Isn't it amazing? We've left billions of dead in our wake; our entire civilization has been destroyed … _and nothing has changed_! The masters are still the masters, and the slaves are still the slaves. _When are we going to wake up? When are we going to throw off our shackles?"_

There was widespread murmuring in the landing bay, until a lone pair of hands began to clap. When Zarek looked around, he found that D'Anna Biers was studying him through openly skeptical eyes.

"You are an eloquent speaker, Mr. Zarek; I'll give you that. But you are preaching the wrong message to this particular choir."

D'Anna's eyes swept the bay in one all-encompassing glance. More than a dozen Twos and Threes had migrated to this ship, all of them seeking to live in harmony with their persecuted human brothers and sisters. Here, Cylons and humans had quickly discovered that their shared faith in a singular divinity trumped all other considerations. Beset by implacable foes, they had become a community with a single voice.

D'Anna saw people shaking their heads in agreement all around her.

"We seek only one thing from the Colonial government," she continued, "and that is the right to practice our beliefs openly and without fear of continuing persecution. We are willing to work for the common good … on this … or any other ship."

"_Here, here," _a number of the Gemenese called out.

"But we do not wish to be mocked and spat upon in return for our efforts. You are a member of the Quorum, Mr. Zarek. Would you be willing to introduce legislation to guarantee freedom of religion, as well as freedom of assembly? At present, we enjoy neither. At present, every official function opens with an invocation to the gods delivered by the high priestess Hypatia …"

"Idolatry contaminates our marriage and baptismal rituals," Sarah Porter fumed. "Laura Roslin's new legal code denies us the right to raise our children in accordance with our traditional beliefs …"

"_And I voted against it,"_ Zarek exclaimed. "Gemenon, Sagittaron, Tauron, Aerilon, Canceron, Virgon ... we all voted to uphold the judicial independence that is one of the basic liberties enshrined in the Articles of Colonization. But we lost. Why? People, there's no great mystery here; three of the delegates mysteriously died during the uprising—one of them among the most consistent and vocal of Roslin's opponents. Well, surprise, surprise," Zarek sneered; "she promptly hand-picked their successors. And at the very next session, she introduced a measure to put a Cylon and a centurion on the Quorum. She jammed it down our throats ... remember?"

The former terrorist repeatedly pounded his fist into his palm for emphasis. "The Quorum split right down the middle, which enabled Roslin to break the tie. So, now she's got eight votes in her back pocket, plus the support of the military. We're helpless. Roslin can do anything she wants, and the rest of us have no choice but to sit back and take it."

"_But it doesn't have to be this way,"_ Zarek cried. "D'Anna, I absolutely support freedom of religion, but I have no desire to be publicly humiliated. I'm willing to tackle Roslin and her gang of puppets, but only if the Cylons and the centurions back my play. Can you turn their votes around?"

"No," D'Anna reluctantly admitted. "Admiral Adama not only allows us freely to worship on _Galactica_ but also attends our services without fail. The Sixes and Eights on _Galactica's_ decks do not meet with prejudice at every turn, so it's easy for them to pretend that it doesn't exist. Even some of my sisters," D'Anna sighed.

"My model is also divided," Leoben confessed. "We all see the contempt in which those of us who worship the one God are held, but some of my brothers counsel patience. They argue that we must give the wounds opened by _Demand Peace_ time to heal. I can see their point, but I also fear that we shall never be able to persuade the Sixes to abandon Laura Roslin. Natalie believes that our future in this fleet is narrowly tied to the President's …"

"It would be helpful if other prominent public figures openly recognized our claims to sentience," D'Anna pointedly remarked. "There are only so many battles that Natalie can fight at one time."

"_Then we shall have to win this war at the ballot box,"_ Zarek passionately replied. "If I'm elected president I'll send Hypatia packing, but legislatively my hands will still be tied unless we pick up one more vote in the Quorum. Leonis is a possibility, but it would be better all the way around if the centurions supplied the seventh vote. Adama will be far less inclined to carry out still another military coup if he can't control the centurions."

"We're talking to them," Leoben grudgingly conceded. "We're trying to impress upon them that they do not have to march in lockstep with the Sixes, but this is no easy task. There is a genuine bond between our machine brothers and Shelly Adama. Her appointment as the Cylon delegate to the Quorum was a masterstroke. She speaks for Natalie, but we are all to understand that she speaks for her husband as well. She gives the Admiral a political voice that he lacked heretofore, and she ties _Galactica_ directly to the baseships. Shelly is the anvil upon which our alliance has been forged."

_And I can't even assassinate the bitch,_ Zarek raged … _not with that frakking resurrection ship parked right in the middle of the fleet!_

. . .

"It's getting colder."

Marcia Case shivered, and huddled closer to the fire.

"The City of the Gods is well to the north of the planetary equator," Claudia Wang observed. The raven haired surgical nurse was the only medical specialist in camp, which also made her the only person with medical training on the entire planet. "And I suspect that the winter solstice is still some weeks away. Yesterday, the sun went down at 16:55; today, sunset was at 16:53."

"We should relocate to the tropics," Hector "Fish Bait" Greenleaf argued. The Raptor jockey was a native of Canceron, and cold weather was something that he could do without. "The game will be more plentiful, and fruits and nuts a lot easier to gather. If we settle along a stretch of ocean with an onshore reef, fishing will be child's play." The lieutenant had grown up on the beach, and he had spent countless hours fishing off one pier or another.

"We'd also have a longer growing season for our crops," Henry Avalon pointed out. At nineteen, Parsnip had fled the family farm on Tauron in favor of a career in the Colonial fleet. Now, at the ripe old age of twenty-four he was going back to the soil—and he had no illusions about what he was going to be doing for the rest of his life. Both his days and his nights were pretty well planned out.

"I tend to agree," Showboat said. "I thought that we could put all the loose building stone here to good use, but we have to get out of the Raptors before we exhaust our tylium supply, and we can't do that this far north. We'll head south in the morning. A coastal plain or a river valley in the tropical belt someplace with good soil, fresh water, and a stand of timber ... that's where we'll plant the colony."

. . .

"_Caprica, you'd better get up here!"_

Kara was studying the clearing in which Boomer had landed their Raptor. She had spotted seven centurions on the way in, and she could still see four of them in the distance_. Either this Anders guy has been picking up strays,_ Kara concluded, _or we've stumbled across a herd of lost mechanical sheep. Either way …_

"Well, Agent Brandywine, sir … what do you think?" Kara gestured towards the clearing with a nod of her head.

"Not what I expected," Caprica acknowledged. "So, we should proceed cautiously. I'll go first; the worst that can happen is I wake up in a vat of goo."

"You're the boss," Kara grinned.

This was the fourth stop on what had turned out to be a very long day. Caprica's surface was being pounded by torrential rain as the planet fell ever more deeply into the grip of nuclear winter. No one was especially surprised that all of the resistance camps had shifted during Natasi's absence, but the perpetual gloom and inclement weather had made picking up the trail of the scattered human refugees difficult in the extreme. So far, Caprica Six had managed successfully to rendezvous with three guerilla groups. In each instance she had spread maps out across the Raptor's floor, and the resistance leaders had methodically ticked off the hospitals and supply depots upon which they had been drawing for food, medicine, fuel and ammunition. Colonel Phillips had questioned each of the leaders closely, and he had littered the maps with fresh notations, each of them pointing to heavy equipment and building material that might be salvaged for future use. Phillips had detached one of his officers to remain behind with each group, and Natasi had provided transponders and wireless communications gear that Leoben had slaved to the baseship now parked overhead.

Caprica was a big planet, and conditions were deteriorating rapidly. Evacuating the thousands of survivors and whatever supplies and equipment they could salvage was going to be a monumental task.

Natasi stepped off the ramp, and walked in the direction of a trio of centurions observing her from a distance. She was wearing one of the elegant white rain coats that her sisters so prized, but it had two functional purposes—to keep her dry, and to make her an easy target. When she got within range, she simply asked the closest machine whether its telencephalic inhibitor had been removed. When the centurion shifted its position so that she would be able to see the hole at the base of its skull, she breathed a deep sigh of relief.

Caprica turned to face the Raptor, and gestured for the others to come out and join her. Kara, Boomer, Alexander Phillips, Andrea Minor and two other lieutenants from the 3654th slowly trudged across the sodden field. Their clothes were soaked, and they were all thoroughly miserable. Everyone was looking forward to getting back to the baseship and taking a long, hot shower.

"Is Sam Anders with you? If he's here, please take us to him."

The centurion's lone red eye stilled. The machine stared at the Six for a moment, and then abruptly turned and headed for a stand of trees at the far end of the clearing. As they neared the verge, Caprica sensed movement in the undergrowth and she strained her eyes, looking for one intimately familiar face. And then he stepped out of the shadows.

"Sam," she cried. Caprica picked up her pace, and the two lovers scrambled across the wet and slippery ground to fall into one another's arms.

"You came back," Sam whispered repeatedly as he lifted her off the ground and twirled her in his arms. "You came back."

"To get you out of here," she whispered in return; "to take everybody home."

"As good as your word," he grinned. Anders glanced at the assembled officers, but he stared hard at Boomer: it wasn't every day that one saw a Cylon wearing a Colonial flight uniform. "So, is _Galactica_ up there?"

"No. There are two baseships in the system. We've evacuated Picon, but we're just getting started here on Caprica. It's going to take time."

"Well, I hope you've got plenty of room on your ships. There are now over eight hundred people in this camp alone; we've been moving east for weeks, absorbing other groups as we go. Come on, let's get everybody out of the rain, and then we can sort out what to do next." Sam led them back through the trees, and now Caprica could see that the dense canopy hid hundreds of tents.

"You're living out in the open," she said with surprise.

"No ... not really; we're still using the intelligence you supplied to locate and tag supply dumps. The radioactivity has got into the ground water, and if you see any carcasses in the forest, it's best to give them a wide berth. Without the bottled water and food that your friends in the CSS stashed in hardened shelters, all of us would have been long since dead. The planet's dying, Natasi … and it's going to take a thousand lifetimes for it to heal."

"In here," Sam said as he directed them into a large tent that served as his makeshift command post. "Natasi, you remember Jean Barolay ... and this is Melania Peripolides. Together they run the civilian side of our operation …"

"I've met Melania before as well," Caprica interrupted; "and Captain Lysander ... you still look as intimidating as ever." She offered her hand in greeting to the dark-skinned Special Forces Officer.

"Your Highness," he chuckled; "it's good to see you again."

"Marcus, I'd like you to meet Colonel Alexander Phillips and Lieutenants Minor, Terence, and Jacobs of the 3654th—a combat engineering battalion. Their unit made up about half the evacuees from Picon. This Eight is Lieutenant Sharon "Boomer" Valerii of the _Galactica_ …"

Caprica ushered Kara forward, and turned back to Sam. "And this is my daughter, Colonel Kara Thrace Six … our Second Born."

Marcus Lysander whistled softly as he studied the blond haired pilot in the flight uniform. He could see the resemblance, "So, you're one of the two hybrids," he finally remarked.

"Yeah, but I try not to let it go to my head. So, you don't have to bow and scrape, or anything ... and why'd you call my mom 'Your Highness'?"

Everybody in the tent started laughing. "Colonel, it's an inside joke," Melania finally admitted. "If this planet has a queen, your mother is it."

Melania turned to look up at the hulking centurion with a frown. "Henry," she said affectionately "let's get you dried off before you start to rust." She grabbed a stool, some towels, and got to work on centurion 114L43H7.

"You gave my brothers names?" Kara was incredulous.

"Hey," Sam protested, "they may be your brothers, but they're my kids … or at least that's what they all keep telling me."

"Well, does that make you my uncle or something?"

"We're not sure," Caprica intervened. "I want to get Sam up to the baseship so that we can analyze his blood and DNA. He's either one of our five missing Cylons, or he's still another hybrid. The tests are simple, but since we have your blood and DNA to use as a baseline, the results will be definitive."

"But first," Phillips added, "we have a lot of work to do." He reached inside his jacket and brought out a thick packet of ordnance survey maps. "We're in the market for equipment as well as supplies. I saw some trucks parked on the edge of the clearing; we could use a couple of hundred just like them."

"Sir," Lysander replied, "there are plenty of trucks lying about, but fuel that hasn't degraded is getting harder and harder to come by."

"Have you found a cache of fuel pumps?"

"Yes, sir; there's an abandoned military supply depot about thirty ... thirty-five klicks northeast of Delphi that has a lot of spare parts for the transport pool. Fuel's the problem, not parts."

"Marcus," Caprica said with a reassuring grin, "fuel won't be an issue. The CSS has a supply depot tucked away inside an asteroid out in the belt. It will be our last stop on the way back to the fleet ... and I guarantee that you will not be disappointed."

. . .

"_But the president is acting like a dictator. The queen bee of the Caprican hive wants us to settle for whatever scraps she deigns to throw us from her well-stocked table."_ Roslin took mental notes as she listened, but when the recording finished she looked up at the Six with no name. "Was anybody from the press pool in attendance?"

"No, Madame President; this was a closed meeting. The press was deliberately excluded."

"Now, that's interesting ... because as political rhetoric goes, this is pretty tame stuff. "_'The masters are still the masters, and the slaves are still the slaves',"_ Roslin mocked. "Where have I heard that line before?"

"Madame President, I think that it would be a serious mistake to underestimate Tom Zarek."

"I agree, but I'd like to hear your reasoning."

"I have had ample opportunity to study the male animal, Madame President, and I'd like to think that I've taken his measure. Tom Zarek promises the people on the _Gemenon Traveller_ one thing and the people on the _Chrion_ another, and he always does so with convincing sincerity. He is adept at reading the mood of his audience; he plays to people's hopes in one setting, and to their fear and rage in another. He's a demagogue, but I do not believe that he seeks power for its own sake. He's still a terrorist and a revolutionary, and he will stop at nothing to win the presidency so that he can impose his vision of the model society upon the rest of us …"

"And he's not above purging the reactionaries to pave the way for his classless paradise of wonderfully equal but thoroughly mindless drones," Roslin sarcastically noted.

"Indeed, Madame President: a peaceful revolution is not his objective. Mr. Zarek will be disappointed in the extreme if he doesn't get to indulge in a little wholesale bloodletting. He'll welcome opposition; somebody has to pay for the twenty years that he rotted in prison."

"Well, it doesn't sound like he's made much progress on the _Gemenon Traveller_—and without the Gemenese in his camp he doesn't stand a chance in the election. I presume that you have operatives on every ship in the fleet?"

"Yes, Madame President; the black market may be less obtrusive under its new management, but we still have our fingers in every pie."

"Then I trust that you will continue to keep an eye on Zarek, and that you will let me know if he actually starts to score points with the electorate."

"You can count on me, Madame President."

"I do, Six and thank you." Roslin sat back in her chair and studied the ceiling while she collected her thoughts. "What concerns me here," she finally continued, "is the divides that are emerging in your own ranks. I did not expect this, or to put it another way … I didn't expect it to start happening quite so quickly."

"Madame President, the collective has never been the monolith that humans seem to assume. From the beginning, the Ones have belittled the religious beliefs that the rest of us hold dear. The Threes have long believed that they know God's will, while we Sixes preach that He constantly reveals himself to us in new ways, with the hope that we will be inspired to become better people. Once we began to infiltrate the Colonies, these fault lines necessarily opened even wider because we were isolated from one another and circumstances forced us to behave as individuals. What you are seeing here in the fleet is very much the same pattern. The Twos and Threes continue to seek their answers directly from God, while the Sixes and Eights hold that God wishes cylon and human to interact and to learn from each other. If there is strength in diversity, then our growing disunity may well be desirable."

"That may be true, Six ... but we still have a war to fight, and disunity is a weakness that Cavil might easily turn to his advantage."

"I believe that our people will continue to unite in the face of a common enemy who threatens to destroy us all. Still, once the enemy is removed from our midst …"

"Then the Capricans will go back to mocking the Taurons and sneering at the Gemenese, and the Sagittarons will isolate themselves and banish the rest of us to Hades." Roslin completed the Six's thought with a resigned sigh. "_Plus ca change, plus c'est Ia même chose._ Only now, the Twos and Threes will be reinforcing the already well entrenched Gemenese belief that they're being persecuted by everyone else in the fleet. I just hope that your brothers and sisters continue to stay away from the Sagittarons. We do not need to stir up that hornet's nest."

"There are limits to cylon tolerance, Madame President—but be that as it may, we should give some thought as to how we can use the existing divides to put Mr. Zarek at a disadvantage." The Six with no name had been waiting for precisely this opening. "As you are no doubt aware, there are ... rumblings within the fleet that have nothing to do with_ Demand Peace_. A certain percentage of the population looks at Colonial One, and they see a solidly Caprican political elite. They look at _Galactica_, and they see Caprican officers at every turn. Tom Zarek is not well positioned to exploit this discontent because conditions are not so bad that a majority would vote to hand the presidency over to a terrorist, but …"

"Go on," Roslin encouraged. There was a hard look on her face.

"Zarek is a pragmatist, Madame President. Once he concedes that he can't win, he may well decide to put up another candidate … someone whom he can control from behind the scenes. An inoffensive candidate from one of the disenfranchised Colonies would be a safe protest vote."

"With," Roslin speculated, "Zarek serving as his or her Vice-President?"

"That would seem logical."

"Do you have any suggestions?"

"Bring something before the Quorum that we can vote against."

Roslin blinked in surprise. "I don't follow you."

"The Twos and Threes sense that they are being left behind ... and could either one of us honestly say that their fears are unwarranted? Madame President, the _Gemenon Traveller_ is not an isolated case. There is an increasingly widespread sentiment within the fleet that a new political aristocracy is taking shape ... one that consists of Capricans and their trusted Sixes and Eights. We cannot afford to allow Zarek to tap into this vein. He'll focus anti-cylon resentment on our two models even as he postures as the defender of the oppressed, cylon and human alike. He can only win this election if he succeeds in turning it into a referendum on class and privilege. Hatred of the cylon will not be enough to see him to victory."

Roslin got up and began pacing back and forth behind her desk. "Hmm," she concluded; "you've obviously thought this through. What is it that you want me to bring up for a vote?"

"The question of forced migration to the baseships can be presented to the Quorum as a public health and safety issue. But we schedule a public hearing, and we encourage Zarek to believe that the outcome is a foregone conclusion. It shouldn't be hard to convince him that the usual eight votes will rubber stamp your proposal. We give him plenty of time to make the rounds and deliver his customary rant—and then we embarrass him."

Roslin laughed, but there was a malicious gleam in her eyes. "Don't stop now," she said.

"We allow a few Sixes and Eights to testify … _a few very grimy Sixes and Eights_. Let them explain how hard the maintenance routine is on the baseships. Let them plead for volunteers to help share the load, but also give them a chance to speak out against compulsory migration ... about how things will only get worse if we force people to move against their will. When the motion finally comes up for a vote, Shelly and the centurion join forces with Zarek's supporters on the Quorum to defeat it. It's democracy in action … the popular will being heard. You gracefully bow to the will of the majority; Zarek will look like a fool, _and_ ..."

"Keep going." The Six had the President's complete attention.

"Kara's staff has drawn up a list of names. In the aftermath, we send these very same Sixes and Eights out across the fleet, dirty fingernails and all. We give them a chance to make individual appeals; if they succeed, so much the better—but our real purpose is to explode the myth of the emergent cylon upper class once and for all. Once the voters realize that Zarek has been wrong about the cylons …"

"… then it will be relatively easy to convince them that he is, in the immortal words of James McManus, 'a fatuous gasbag'! It's brilliant, Six truly brilliant!"

"Thank you, Madame President. In fairness, however, you should give credit to certain of my associates in the black market. It's self-interest, really. My friends see the _Astral Queen_ as unwanted competition. They're so keen to defeat Zarek that … well … let's put it this way: Dino Panattes implored me to suggest that for the foreseeable future Capricans clean out their own latrines."

Roslin laughed some more. "I smell a photo op here. We stick a toilet brush in the hands of a certain Eight on the resurrection ship …"

"… and renowned presidential advisor Billy Keikeya will instantly drop to his knees; side by side, the two of them will begin enthusiastically scrubbing away."

"Another exclusive brought to you by Playa Palacios!"

"You win re-election in a landslide, and help us to keep _Astral Queen_ out of the black market."

"Agreed," the President simply replied.

"Then we have a deal?"

"We have a deal."

"Congratulations on your re-election, Madame President. Once Zarek swallows the bait, it will take a miracle to bring him back from the political dead."

. . .

"Brother, I have to confess that I am truly underwhelmed. I swear … if I wasn't in on the plan, I wouldn't have the slightest idea what you hope to achieve here. It's one thing to be devious, but to design a strategy that depends in its entirety on a human having such acute powers of observation …" Cavil sighed deeply, his skepticism on naked display.

Cavil stared disbelievingly at his younger sibling. Machines were supposed to be logical- remorselessly so- but One was increasingly inclined to believe that a programming error of first-order magnitude had somehow corrupted the circuitry of his model's less mature copies. He had already concluded that most of his brothers would have to be boxed until he and a few others could isolate the glitch and jury rig an effective patch. He just hoped that the faulty copies hadn't all picked up a terminal virus somewhere along the way.

"Do not underestimate Doctor Baltar," Cavil replied with the slightest hint of impatience. "He's far more intelligent than the average meat sac, and he will not take the bait if it's too obvious. He prides himself on his subtlety, but once he's been hooked his vanity will keep him wriggling on the line."

The younger Cavil favored his senior with a raised eyebrow. There had been quiet discussions within his cohort about the onset of senility among his model's oldest copies. Faulty synaptic relays might possibly be repaired, but no one expected such increasingly temperamental machines to submit voluntarily to so novel a procedure. No … the only practical solution would be to box them all, and then download them into fresh husks.

"Really, brother," he protested, "I strongly recommend that you run a self-diagnostic. Do you seriously expect Baltar to find deep meaning in a few drops of blood scattered across the deck … in the odd bloody fingerprint fading on a corridor wall? The man is a sex addict; he is blind to everything except the charms of his precious Eight. I swear … you could litter the decks with bloody stumps and he would step over them without conscious thought. Of course, you could try stacking the decapitated heads of his once beloved Sixes in a neat pile somewhere … let the Eight guide him to it … but even that might not work."

A pained expression briefly flitted across Cavil's features. Cavil looked at Cavil in exactly the same way that the human scientist might have once used a microscope to examine an especially exotic bug.

"You're absolutely right, brother: Doctor Baltar is an addict. But you have misread the nature of his addiction. This particular meat sac has a keen sense of self-preservation. He sniffs out danger where it does not exist, and he sees the threats to his precious organic hide that others would consistently miss. You condemn me for an excess of subtlety, but I am worried that I am not being subtle enough!"

The One strolled up and down the corridor, studying the telltale clues. He was trying to see his handiwork from Baltar's perspective. "The Eight has been programmed to take the good doctor to the hybrid's chamber, and she will use this corridor and only this corridor when she does so. It doesn't really matter whether he takes the bait the first time out or the tenth. Baltar will fascinate the hybrid, and the idiotic machine will undoubtedly say something that strokes his ego. Human vanity being what it is, for the doctor it will be love at first sight. He'll become a repeat visitor, and it frankly wouldn't surprise me in the least if he decides at some point to frak his Eight right in front of the crazy creature. He's what humans call a 'show-off'. Letting the hybrid see what goes where, and with what results … trying to make it jealous … the temptation will ultimately prove too great. Doctor Baltar is a narcissist. I'll even go so far as to predict that he will frak the Eight while maintaining eye contact with the hybrid throughout. Personally, I'm looking forward to seeing how all of this plays out in the stream. From a strictly scientific point of view, I'm more than a little curious: could the hybrid possibly achieve a sympathetic orgasm of its own?"

"So, can we dispense with some of the other humans? Aaron is beginning to worry me. His failure to make headway with Colonel Hoshi is beginning to affect his mental state. He's so desperate that he's gone back to wearing striped ties with his striped suits!"

"Hmm … that is worrisome. Well, no matter; we can always box him, and tweak his programming a bit. A happy Five makes for a happy ship."

"Well, what about the Eight and her pet female lieutenant? Brother, things are really getting out of hand, and I am not speaking metaphorically. The human is insatiable, and I fear that the Sharon will not be able to keep up. Should we send in some more Eights … turn this into a committee assignment?"

"_Absolutely not,"_ Cavil roared. "In due course, our two resident lovebirds will make their way to the long celibate Lieutenant Novacek's chamber. The female scents … the lovemaking that's going to be taking place a meter or so beyond the bars of his cage … the agony of ecstasy … _I want to rub his nose in it_. I want him to think about all of the pleasures that he's been missing. When he goes back to the fleet, I want him to feel angry, bitter, and betrayed—so angry, in fact, that he'll break Adama's neck at the first opportunity!"

The One cackled triumphantly. "It's taken a long time, brother, and a monumental effort, but the results are undeniable. This Eight is a slut … a perfect role model for the rest of her line. And modesty prevents me from claiming all of the credit. Lieutenant Liu is a creative genius. I've been scrupulously recording everything I can for further analysis, but they're going at it in places where I've never even thought about installing cameras. In the end, if she survives our best option will be to terminate the Eight, and spread the download across the entire model. I might decide to keep Philista around to inspire the odd upgrade, but we can dispense with the rest of the human females. From now on, those of us who desire companionship will find the Eights more than sufficient."

"Well," the younger Cavil readily conceded, "when it comes to questions of sexual performance and entertaining perversion, you are certainly the ultimate authority, and I do respect your judgment. Still, Doctor Baltar worries me. Is there a plan B?"

"Of course there's a plan B!" Cavil's eyes were alive with malice. _And, you twittering moron, it involves boxing!_

. . .

"All right, Captain, this had better be good—in fact, it had better be better than good. Right now, I'm off duty, and you're holding up my dinner. D'Anna may be a miracle worker, but she can't bring the dead back to life, and in about ten minutes that's what it'll take to salvage my supper!"

"Sir, you don't appear to have missed many meals lately," Kat said with a nervous grin. She was staring pointedly at the buttons on Cottle's uniform jacket, which seemed on the verge of exploding.

"Captain," Cottle harrumphed, "do I have to remind you that I'm still the senior officer here? Now, what's so damned important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow morning?"

"How are you and the Three getting along, sir?"

"We have a mature relationship," the major grumbled. "She nags me about cigarettes, and I nag her about God. Then we kiss and make up. We don't exactly frak like bunnies, but we get by. _And you're stalling,_" Cottle shrewdly remarked. "Do you want to spit it out, or do you want me to guess?"

Louanne looked carefully up and down the corridor. She had timed her arrival to coincide with the end of Cottle's shift. "I'm late," she quietly confessed.

"How late is late," the white-haired doctor asked with a knowing sigh.

"It's now a week, sir. I've always been pretty regular, but in space …"

"Yeah, I know. Without lunar tides to confuse things, your monthly cycle is regular as clockwork—yours, and that of every other female in the fleet. So, I suppose you want to take the test, but you don't want my staff to know about it."

"Yes, sir; Ishay has the worst Triad face I've ever seen, and the walls in sickbay all seem to have ears."

"Well, I keep a stash of kits under my bed. They're reserved for officers, and you'd be amazed at how many of them I've distributed over the years. But we can't exactly hide what we're doing from D'Anna; she knows my routine far too well. So, we might as well rely upon her discretion. You can use my bathroom."

Sherman led the visibly nervous pilot down the short hallway that separated sickbay from his office, a large space which also doubled as his personal quarters. They found D'Anna preparing dinner in the makeshift kitchen.

"I didn't make enough food for three," she warned. D'Anna's voice was neutral, but her eyes were alive with curiosity.

"I'm afraid that Captain Katraine is not here to sample the culinary delights," Cottle gruffly responded. He reached under the bed and pulled out one of the pregnancy kits. He handed it to the now thoroughly embarrassed young officer, who hurried off to the bathroom. Neither of them said a word.

D'Anna looked pointedly at her chosen mate, but Cottle simply shrugged his shoulders. They both knew that Kat was monogamous, and the entire fleet knew the identity of her partner.

It took longer than it should have … long enough, in fact, for Cottle to pull Kat's file and check one vitally important date. What he read on the seemingly innocent sheet of paper told the elderly doctor everything that he needed to know. When Louanne finally emerged, therefore, and wordlessly held out the test strip for his inspection, he knew what to expect. It was positive.

"Congratulations, Captain." Feigning ignorance, the doctor asked the inevitable follow-up question.

"Who's the lucky father?"

"Leoben. There hasn't been anybody else in a long, long time," she sighed.

"Another miracle," D'Anna breathed; "once more, we have been blessed by God."

"Well, that's two miracles in one day," Cottle snorted. "Maybe there's something in the water on that baseship which the rest of us should be drinking."

The two women looked at the grumpy surgeon, the same question forming on both their lips.

"It's Aphrodite," Cottle admitted. "I confirmed it earlier this afternoon, although how that young Six could possibly know at this point that she's going to have a boy is beyond me. She's planning on sharing the news with Artemis and Hephaestus when they retire for the evening, so for the time being treat it as privileged information. But I would imagine that there's going to be one hell of a celebration over there later on tonight or tomorrow."

"_Two babies" _D'Anna said enviously. "Oh, Sherman, when I think of how stupid we've been …"

"How about you, Kat," Cottle gently interrupted. "Are you going to keep the baby?"

"Yes," she tersely replied, cutting D'Anna off before she could get started. "But I'm going to airlock the father! This should never have happened!"

"Oh, come on, Kat! I just double checked your medical file. Your contraceptive patch expired over six weeks ago. You must have been expecting this."

"Are you kidding?" Louanne was thunderstruck. "Doc," she protested, "you told us that the Twos shoot blanks!"

"Katraine, what in the name of Hades are you talking about? Don't you ever read the memos that cross your desk? Yeah, for some reason the Twos and Fours can't impregnate their own women, but there's nothing wrong with their sperm. How in the name of the gods do you think Gianna O'Neill got pregnant?"

"I just assumed …"

"You assumed what, Captain?"

"I just assumed that … well, that … that she had something going on the side."

D'Anna and Sherman looked at Kat, and then at each other. It was hard for either of them to credit what they had just heard.

"Louanne," D'Anna remonstrated, "Gianna loves her husband. How could you possibly have thought that she was having an affair with somebody else?"

"I guess … I guess that I never really believed that a machine could … you know …"

"Conceive a child." D'Anna concluded the thought for the human, who had been reduced to utter misery. She shook her head, as the chasm that separated man and machine suddenly opened wide beneath her feet.

"Do you want this baby, Louanne?" D'Anna's voice, which was always so calm, now fell off to little more than a whisper. "Or are you going to resent it for the rest of your life?"

"Yes." The admission took Kat completely by surprise. "I want to have a baby … this baby. Boy or girl, I don't care … as long as the baby's healthy, I'll be fine."

"And Leoben," D'Anna gently pressed. "Will you allow him to be a father to his child?"

"We'll work something out." Louanne frowned. "Gods, listen to me! What am I thinking? The last thing on Caprica that this or any other baby needs is a Two for a father. D'Anna, I'm sorry, but … but … the Twos are just plain weird."

"Leoben might surprise you," Cottle interjected. "In my experience, the best fathers are often the ones whom you would least expect. You should at least give him a chance." He looked at Kat sympathetically. "So, are you going to make an announcement, or do you want us to keep quiet?"

"I'll talk to Aphrodite first," Kat decided. "Her pregnancy is a really big deal, and I don't want to cheapen the moment. But I'll tell Leoben tonight."

"I'll have to inform both Admiral Adama and the President," Cottle warned. "You're a pilot, but as of this moment you're off rotation. There's no reason, however, why you can't continue to serve as a CAG, and I'll recommend to the admiral that you remain at your post. But right now I'm tired and I'm hungry, and there's no damned reason why any of this has to be done tonight. I'll get around to it sometime tomorrow—and I want to see both you and Aphrodite in sickbay at 17:00 hours. Bring Leoben and Lieutenant Fears along as well," he grinned, "but only if they can actually stand on their own two feet. I do not need a couple of slaphappy drunks over here disturbing my patients! Now, go on, get out of here!"

Once Louanne had left, Major Sherman Cottle closed his eyes and thought for a time about the meaning of it all. When he finally turned to D'Anna, his sense of amazement registered clearly on his face. He was a physician and he didn't believe in God or the gods, but he did believe in miracles.

"Two in one day," he laughed. "It's incredible, D'Anna, absolutely incredible … two in one day!"

"Yes," the Three agreed, "God's plan for us all could hardly stand more clearly revealed."

. . .

"Gods on high, how long is this going to take?"

Sam Anders was nervously pacing back and forth across the spacious chamber that Natalie had assigned to Caprica Six. Kara and John were both sitting quietly on the bed, but Caprica knew that it was just a matter of time before her short-tempered daughter exploded.

"It's a mystery," Kara tartly observed. Her eyes were following the one-time Pyramid player around the room, and the irritated expression on her face made it clear that she had already reached the boiling point.

John looked curiously at Kara, silently bidding her to finish the thought.

"Honestly, Anders, I simply do not understand how you managed to survive down there. A bull in a china shop would attract less attention. There's really only one possible explanation: the centurions must have had orders not to shoot you."

"Kara, please," Caprica pleaded; "don't be so insensitive. This is the most important moment in Sam's life."

"Oh, _now_ I remember!" Kara pretended to ignore the interruption. "My mom was covering your pretty little ass. And when she wasn't around, you had an entire squad of centurions to keep you out of trouble! Tell me, Anders, will one of them give you a hankie if you sneeze?" Kara nodded towards the entryway, which was under heavy guard. With Kara, John, and Sam all in the same room, the centurions weren't taking any chances.

"Simon is meticulous," John observed. "And Sam … you should overlook Kara's little temper tantrum. She gets like this when she's on edge."

"Well, at least I don't have nightmares that throw the whole damned fleet into a panic," the blond-haired pilot hissed.

"_Kara, that's enough!"_ Caprica was starting to get truly angry. "You may be fully grown, but you're not too big to spank!"

Kara glared at the Six, but wisely chose not to provoke her further.

"We also have a highly qualified human nurse on board," John continued, "and no one is going to say anything until Larissa has had a chance to confirm the findings. We all want to get this right."

"_We've got to be brothers," _Sam suddenly exclaimed. He paused in front of the bed and stared down at John Bierns. "I mean, we're the same height … we've got the same build. You just look a little more weather beaten, that's all."

"But I don't remember you, Sam … I don't remember you at all." John's tone was gentle, but it left no room for disagreement. The spook knew exactly who Samuel T. Anders was, but he wasn't about to share that information with anyone.

"And you are choosing to ignore obvious distinctions," the Eight added. She was seated to John's left, hovering protectively close. Sharon never forgot that she was John's nurse, but the threat that Cavil posed to both John and her unborn child had given her a new sense of purpose. The Sixes on the two baseships might still be sniping at one another, but the Eights had deliberated among themselves and easily arrived at a new consensus. The huntresses had quietly decided to cast a steel net around Hera and Eirene, but overlapping layers of defense now cocooned Helo, John, Galen, and Adonis as well. The Eights would shield their men from outside threats, although it was understood that Karl Agathon was fair game for every copy of their model. Sharon would soon have her baby, and it seemed only just that the tall and ruggedly handsome ECO sire children for at least some of her sisters.

"Above all, you do not have John's eyes," Sharon observed. She wanted to say more, but she did not know how to explain the obvious: Kara and John were kindred souls, forever united by all that they had suffered. Sam Anders had no place in John's nightmarish visions of a universe gone mad.

Sam resumed pacing, under the watchful eyes of the assembled centurions. A lifetime seemed to pass, but when he next looked up Larissa and Simon were standing in the entryway. Sam's heart leapt into his throat; until this moment it had all seemed so abstract, even surreal—but now, it truly hit him. These two strangers weren't simply holding a few pieces of paper in their hands … they were about to dictate the terms that would govern the rest of his life.

Natalie, Leoben, and Lacy Rand slipped into the room, which didn't surprise Caprica Six in the least. But Gianna O'Neill and Melania Peripolides had come with them, and their presence disconcerted her. A confused look passed briefly across her face, and then she concentrated her attention upon Leoben. The Two was studying Sam in an oddly speculative way, and Caprica instantly concluded that their resident medical team had solved some but not all of the mysteries surrounding her lover.

"The results of the DNA test are conclusive," Simon O'Neill began. "You are not human, Mr. Anders, nor are you a hybrid. Everything suggests that you are pure cylon, but there are subtle differences between you and our seven models."

"Cylon and human clinically constitute two distinct species," Larissa continued, "but there is sufficient overlap in our DNA and blood chemistry for us to have children, and our hormones are an exact match. This is an important point, Sam, as you're about to see."

"The salt content of both human and cylon blood is on the order of nine grams per liter," Simon explained, "but yours measures out at twenty-eight grams per liter. There is a hormone called aldosterone, which is associated with the adrenal gland. It is released into the blood and lymphatic systems to counter undesirable shifts in saline balance. The amount of aldosterone present in your blood is also triple the cylon/human norm, which is consistent with the far higher percentage of salt in your blood."

"You were one hell of a Pyramid player, Sam … and now we know why." Larissa's eyes were full of merriment. "Your reaction times on the court were way above human norms, and your adrenaline surges must have been off the charts! How did you ever pass the random drug tests?"

"They were looking for steroids; I never used them … there was no need."

"I see." Larissa nodded, one of the lingering mysteries now neatly resolved.

"You also have an odd mineral balance," the nurse went on. "In particular, your potassium and magnesium levels are highly elevated—about seventy percent beyond the rest of us."

"We are now hypothesizing," Simon elaborated, "that you were born and raised on a planet whose oceans were far more buoyant than those to be found on the colonial worlds. Its soil characteristics would not closely approximate either Kobol or the Colonies."

"In short, Sam," Larissa grinned, "you're not from around here!"

"So, is he my uncle or what?" As always, Kara wanted to get to the point.

"That's a very good question, Kara, because it leads us right to the heart of the matter." Larissa had abruptly turned serious. "Is he one of the five missing Cylons, or is he something else altogether?"

"Why can't he be both," John asked.

"Interesting; please, elaborate," Lacy urged. All sorts of possibilities had begun to dance through her supremely clever mind.

"Lacy, the way the war ended never made any sense. When _Columbia_ went down, _Galactica_ was the only battlestar left. It was just a matter of time before the centurions achieved total air superiority. At that point, it would have been game over. They were already firmly entrenched on every planet in the system … hell, let's face facts … they controlled over seventy percent of Tauron when they signed off on the Cimtar Accords. The U-87's and the series 0005 centurions had humanity on its knees, and then they just walked away. Why? Why agree to peace when they were so close to total victory?"

"The Five suddenly appeared on the scene," she guessed, "and they offered the centurions something more important than victory." She turned around and stared hard at the elegantly designed soldiers standing in the entryway behind her. Once again, in Lacy Rand's resourceful mind the scattered pieces began to form a coherent pattern. "Oh, my," she murmured before turning back to confront Anders. "You really are their father, Sam; you gave life to this generation of centurion."

"And that's all it took to get them to agree to peace?" Sam's voice was laced with skepticism. "I don't think so. There must be more to it than this."

Sam stared at Caprica, a complex array of emotions sweeping across his handsome features, and then he walked over and knelt before John. "What else did I give them?" His voice was haunted.

Sam was thinking about John's visions, the shattered memories of a universe awash in blood—and he suddenly looked and felt much, much older. Sam Anders was pleading for absolution.

"You were born six years after the Accords, and a lot happened in those six years. The seven cylon models … the hybrids … so much blood … so much death." Sam's voice was quavering. "Was it me? Am I a monster, John? Did I orchestrate this … this obscenity?"

"I keep looking," Bierns replied, his voice so heavy with pain that Natalie's heart, already broken so many times, now broke yet again. "I keep hoping that one day I'll find a centurion who was there … who has all the answers. But Cavil must have destroyed them all … or he wiped their memories … I don't know."

"You're not the bad guy here, Sam; you can't be." Kara had slid close to John—if she could have completely erased the distance between them, at that moment she would willingly have done so.

"It wouldn't make any sense," she concluded. "Cavil must have boxed you, reprogrammed you with a detailed set of false memories, and then banished you into the Colonies just like … just like …"

"You must have fought him." Gianna O'Neill spoke up for the first time. Her hand caressed the child cradled in her womb. "You must have wanted a different future for human and cylon alike … the future that we're now embracing. You must have wanted us to come together and live in peace."

Sam Anders felt as if a thousand pound weight had suddenly been lifted off his shoulders. His gratitude to the strange mix of people now gathered around him was immense.

"I want to bring my children home … all of them." Sam was looking back and forth between Kara and John, but he was thinking about the millions of centurions who yet remained in slavery. "They deserve better … you deserve better." The two hybrids weren't his offspring, at least not in the conventional sense of the term … but when he thought of them that way, it felt right to him. He would become the father that they had never had.

"You can have more children, Sam." Melania was looking at him with eyes that were filled with hope. "A Cylon can't give you a child of your own," she noted as she cast a swift glance at Caprica Six; "but a human can. You can have hybrid children, and you should: that's the way forward for all of us."

Caprica Six looked appraisingly at the human female … looked at her with grudging admiration. Melania Peripolides was going to make a formidable rival. Caprica wanted Sam for herself, but Melania had a weapon in her arsenal that Caprica could never hope to counter.

. . .

"It's been quite a day," Louanne observed. "And I'm so happy for Aphrodite and Stallion. Now, if only Artemis …"

"This child is God's will," Leoben declared. "I will pray for Artemis, as will all of us, but ultimately it is God's purpose that must be served."

"So," Kat teased, "you think that it's God who gives us children, and not the lone sperm that fights its way heroically upstream against such heavy odds to that one waiting egg?"

Leoben and Kat were in her chamber, preparing for bed. Technically the Two still had quarters of his own, but he spent so little time in them that he was thinking about surrendering them to one of the human families that had recently moved aboard.

"God wishes us to reproduce," Leoben countered. "We are meant to fill His creation with life."

"But there's room here for free will, isn't there … free will … and a little thing called timing?"

The Two grinned sheepishly. Long experience had taught him that it was hard to win an argument with Louanne Katraine. His respect for the human female had grown steadily over time, and that sense of respect was the foundation for other, more powerful feelings.

"Would you like us to have a child, Leoben? Do you think you're up to being a daddy?" Louanne's voice was still teasing.

Leoben looked steadily at Kat, the question that he was afraid to ask hanging heavily in the air between them. He felt something odd going on in his stomach. A quick check of various files reminded him that humans associated this sensation with butterflies.

"That's right, Leoben." Kat's gaze was equally steady. "I'm pregnant. We're going to have a baby."

Leoben felt as if all the air had suddenly been sucked out of his lungs. He literally had to fight for breath. He reached out to take Kat's hands. "A baby," he finally whispered. His right hand drifted unconsciously to Kat's belly … to the source of life itself.

"And while I don't know about God," Louanne continued with a wicked smile, "I'm reasonably certain that your role in this little miracle of ours was a pretty big one!"

Leoben laughed, a sound of pure joy, and then he swept Kat into his arms and kissed her passionately. "I love you," he finally confessed.

"Why, Leoben Conoy," Kat laughed in return, "does that mean that you intend to make an honest woman out of me?"

"You'd … you'd be willing?" Leoben gulped, and looked at her more closely. It was frequently hard to tell when Louanne was being serious. "I'm weird, you know … or at least, that's what you keep telling me. Don't you think I'm too weird to be a good husband and father?"

"There was a time," Kat sighed theatrically, "when I had written you off as absolutely hopeless. Why, as little as six hours ago I would have thrown up if someone had been stupid enough to mention marriage. But then it occurred to me: what qualifies me to be a wife and mother? Absolutely nothing, because when you get down to cases I'm still as bitchy as ever. But in recent weeks you've been shaping up nicely." Kat stroked Leoben's cheek, and guided him over to their bed. "We'll just update your programming a bit more here and there, and you'll do fine. But if I ever find out that you've allowed some of your brothers to take your place …"

"_Louanne … how could you?" _Leoben found the very idea of sharing Kat with one of his brothers disturbing in the extreme. He rapidly opened some more files and analyzed their contents. _Possessive and jealous,_ he quickly concluded; _I'm both possessive and jealous. How … human of me!_

Leoben decided to rush to the control room and spread the joyous news through the stream, but Kat read his mind and reached out to pull him firmly back to their bed. "This night belongs to Aphrodite," she explained. The gorgeous Six had been the first person Kat had sought out when she returned to the ship. After the obligatory hugs, Kat had solemnly promised not to intrude upon her moment. She would make Leoben wait until the morning.

And the morning came. In the control room, with Aphrodite and a still blissfully ignorant Artemis and Stallion at their side, Leoben and Kat first announced their wedding plans, and then the news of her impending delivery. For the second time in less than twelve hours, the baseship was reduced to delirious pandemonium—and before the day was out the word had spread to every corner of the surrounding fleet. In a starlit observation chamber on board _Cloud Nine_, Billy Keikeya responded to this latest revelation by wrapping his arm still more tightly around Rebecca Eight. And then he leaned over and kissed her.

The future Aphrodite Fears and Louanne Conoy didn't know it, but they had just planted fresh seeds in the garden that John Bierns and Caprica Six had been tending for so long and with such care.

. . .

John stood up, and walked angrily towards the piano. Kara was playing a tune that he vaguely recalled from his early days at university. He had never paid enough attention to memorize the lyric, but he knew that it was the usual chamalla induced nonsense ... something about jokers and thieves.

"_Damn it, Kara, you're mangling that tune! I swear, the only thing worse than your singing is your piano playing!"_ John grabbed her glass of wine, and drained it in one gulp. It was white, it was cold, and it was exquisite—silk on the tongue that morphed into pepper at the back of the palate. He picked up the bottle, poured a fresh glass, and studied the label. It was a six year old Sandalford chardonnier from the Margarita river valley. The river coursed through a vineyard region about three hours south of Hedon, the largest city on the west coast of Leonis' principal continent—and its most aptly named.

"At least you know your wine," he muttered as he took a fresh swallow.

"Careful, superspy," she glared in return; "your frustration is beginning to get the better of you."

"Can you blame me? I am surrounded by women. I am outnumbered seven to frakking one! And none of you are making any sense!" He shook his head in despair.

"Have a cookie, John. They're fresh. I baked them this morning."

"Thank you, Cassie." The First Born politely accepted the peace offering, and obediently bit off a large chunk. He had innocently told his hybrid sisters that he loved pecan pie and macadamia cookies. They had been down on the beach, and he had been reminiscing about a lazy afternoon that he had once spent in a quaint little village called Boombera. It lay several thousand kilometers to the northeast of Hedon- indeed, it was not far from the opposite coast- and he had wonderfully vivid memories of the macadamia trees that had been growing like weeds in everyone's front yard. Like any well-trained intelligence agent, John had a keen eye for detail, and he had turned out to be a surprisingly good story teller. The hybrids loved his tales, and a completely enthralled Cassandra had responded to this one by putting him to work planting entire groves of pecan and macadamia trees. In the interim she had somehow conjured up the necessary recipes, and he was now happily munching on the results of their first harvest. John knew a bribe when he saw one, but he also knew when he was going to end up on the losing side of the argument.

"It was foolish of the Cavils to attack us," Lacy sighed. She was working hard to avoid lecturing John in front of the others. "We should all keep in mind that, while they knew exactly where to find us, we didn't know if the Cylons even had a home world. The long years of peace had lulled us to sleep. The President didn't think twice about taking an ax to the defense budget, but he still couldn't generate the funds that he needed to buy off the more militant elements in the public employees and teachers unions. Strikes were paralyzing a government rife with judicial corruption, and the fleet was hard pressed just to cope with the occasional act of piracy. Far from being a threat to the Cylons, we weren't even a nuisance."

"Ah, the good old days," Kara sneered. Much to John's irritation, she continued idly to pick at the piano keys.

"Lacy, you've lost me. Granted, I'm not the sharpest stick in the bunch, but I just don't get it. It's been less than a year. Eight months ago our vulnerabilities made the Colonies an irresistible target, and today Gemenon is even more defenseless. But you want to remain here, and you're actively encouraging Cylons and humans alike to repopulate the planet. And thousands of them are going to take you up on your offer. I'm sorry, but this sounds an awful lot like suicide to me. We've been in colonial space for over four weeks, and Cavil knows it. He's just waiting for the baseships to leave. Once we're gone, he'll come back and finish the job. He'll nuke the planet from orbit, and then he'll send his slave troops down to mop up. You won't stand a chance."

"_Men,"_ Kara said in disgust. "Gods, John … _how can you be so stupid?_"

"What Kara is trying to say," Reun diplomatically interjected, "is that Cavil will start from the assumption that we are here to take on survivors and supplies. He will expect us to strip the Colonies clean, and he will be regrouping to tackle an enemy whose forces are now larger and far better equipped. _Galactica_ and the baseships will monopolize his attention. Gemenon will become a safe haven precisely because Cavil has already checked the Colonies off his list."

"What has the war actually accomplished to date," Lacy asked. "It has inspired an exodus … scattered humanity across the stars. We are managing two refugee fleets, and we know that _Pegasus_ ran across a third a week after the attacks. How many other ships are out there? We don't know, and neither do the Ones. It must worry them."

"Husband, you should spend more time talking to the Twos." Deirdre tried to sound encouraging. "They can teach you about the cycles of time. The Cavils are convinced that in this cycle the machine is predestined for conquest, but if they don't exterminate the human race, in their minds the resurgence of man will inevitably become the defining theme of the next cycle. They will concentrate on _Galactica_, and Adama will lead them farther and farther away from the Colonies. Gemenon will recede into the dusty pages of history, and the life that takes root here will flourish."

The hybrid was going to say more, but she suddenly gasped in pain. Her eyes went wide, and her hands clutched at her heavily swollen belly. She felt liquid trickling down her legs.

"_Deirdre!"_ John rushed across the room, knowing that his wife was going into labor.

"It's time," she somehow managed to grunt. "Ariadne loves the water, so we need to get to the pool." Knowing that Kara and John might easily panic, Deirdre was trying her best to remain calm.

Lacy Rand had never delivered a baby in her life, and at her advanced age she wasn't about to try … not when there was professional help immediately to hand. She calmly removed her holoband, and a bare second later found herself back in Reun's chamber. Larissa was once again monitoring Kara's projection, and Lacy was profoundly relieved to find the nurse so close to hand. She held the holoband out for Larissa to grasp.

"One of the hybrids has just gone into labor, and none of us know the first thing about giving birth. Larissa, I need you to get in there and bring this pregnancy successfully to term."

"_What? _Reverend Mother, I don't … I've never …"

"Trust me, Larissa; it's really easy. This holoband is locked onto Galatea Bay. You will materialize inside the house. Just go outside, and walk straight ahead. You'll find everyone at the birthing pool. If you need anything, anything at all … all you have to do is ask John for help."

"But … but … how?" Larissa eyes were jumping back and forth between Lacy and Reun. For one of the hybrids to have a baby … "Reverend Mother, _how is this physically possible_?"

"Child, does it really matter?" Lacy let out an impatient sigh. "Larissa, how many times have you heard Leoben talk about the most basic article of faith … you know … his little sermon on these bodies not being all that we are? Well, he's right. You're about to meet Reun … _the real Reun_ … for the first time. And you're about to make history. In my misspent youth, I wandered V-world for countless hours and I saw a great many things, most of them unspeakably vile. I didn't shed any tears when the Zoe Graystone avatar dismantled New Cap City … its demise was long overdue. But now, something wonderful is about to happen. For the first time, a child is going to be born in this dimension—a life form unlike any that the universe has ever seen. Larissa, you're not going to assist at a birth … you're going to participate in a miracle!"

Lacy Rand gently slid the holoband into place, and waited until the nurse had shut her eyes. When she opened them, Larissa Karanis was stunned. She was standing in the middle of a spacious living room, and through an open window she could see fleecy white clouds promenading across an intensely blue sky, beneath which lay a wine dark sea. Larissa opened the door, and stepped outside. She could hear a waterfall in the distance, and a well-trodden path led away from the house in its general direction. She hurried along the path, not really knowing what to expect.

. . .

Several hundred light years beyond the planet that had offered them temporary shelter, a fleet of human and cylon refugees paused in the dark. They were well below the galactic plane, following a course that would bring them closer and closer to the distant core. On the fleet's lone baseship, the hybrid had ceased her interminable and often indecipherable ramblings. For the moment, at least, conditions on the ship and throughout surrounding space had ceased to interest her.

Apart from the two metallic sentinels permanently posted to the hybrid's chamber, Eve Six was alone. She had never shared her suspicions with the others, but she had been waiting for this day, knowing with absolute certainty that it would eventually come. She knelt beside the tub, and offered her hand. Deirdre was glassy-eyed and perspiring, and every few minutes another wave of pain would contort her normally stoic features. The hybrid reached out blindly, seeking the comfort of another being's touch.

"_Breathe, Deirdre! You can do this! Take deep, cleansing breaths, and try to exhale slowly."_

Deirdre Bierns tried to concentrate on the voices, but the pain was unremitting, and it was getting worse by the minute. She couldn't speak; the effort was beyond her. It was a struggle even to breathe. Oxygen came to her in short, painful gasps—and now her moaning had morphed into full-throated screams.

"_The baby will let you know … that's when you have to push, Deirdre!"_

Eve squeezed the hybrid's hand, timing the contractions in her head. Now it was a matter of seconds, one contraction following hard on the next.

Throughout the baseship, those Cylons who were immersed in the stream looked at one another in open disbelief. They were all bearing silent witness to a miracle, and so it was easy to hear the numerous voices that were exhorting the hybrid to bear down. Eve's voice they recognized … but not the others.

"You're doing fine, Deirdre … you and Ariadne both. When I tell you to push," the confident female voice firmly instructed, _"push hard!"_

Deirdre screamed.

"_Push,"_ Eve Six yelled.

"_Push hard," _Larissa commanded.

Deirdre's cervix dilated a few more precious centimeters, and in the comfortably warm and crystal-clear waters of the birthing pool, Larissa could see the crown of Ariadne's head begin to emerge.

And suddenly, it was over. Larissa carefully eased the newborn out of the water head first, and watched with satisfaction as the little girl took her first breath. With the umbilical cord still attached, she placed the child in her mother's waiting arms.

Thousands of light years away, Eve Six looked at the hybrid in awe. She had never seen such complete contentment on another face. And in the stream, thousands of Cylons felt a powerful wave of emotion course through their minds. Once, John Bierns had taught them the meaning of guilt and shame; now, Deirdre Bierns permitted them to glimpse the ever elusive face of God—in the primal form of a mother's unrestrained love for her newborn child.


	37. Chapter 37: Lullaby and Goodnight

CHAPTER 37

LULLABY AND GOODNIGHT

"You know, there are days when I _really_ hate this job!" Anita was pacing furiously back and forth in the hybrid's chamber. She felt utterly ridiculous. "I mean, there I was … Anita Suarez, the CEO of Fremantle Industries. I was pulling down four million a year, and that's _before _the stock options. I had my own Raptor, a chauffeured limousine, the beach house on Argosy Bay … _I was a high flier_!" She shook her head in exasperation. "The Admiralty was financing our R&D out of some black ops budget, but Nagala _had to know_ that I was sleeping with the head of procurement for the CSS. _Why did I ever let Richard talk me into throwing it all away to become the gods damned Defense Minister?_"

Caleb Adama looked at his wife, and rolled his eyes. They had both heard it all before, and Caleb found himself stifling a yawn.

Vice President Eve Six remained silent, but she shot her husband a warning glance. The President would soon run out of steam … _if_ no one took the bait.

"Gods, how I miss Marcus," Anita murmured.

D'Anna Biers involuntarily winced. Richard Adar, Harlan Berriman, and Marcus Greene had been high value targets, and the rebel Cylons had gone to elaborate lengths to keep them safe. D'Anna had pleaded with the general to evacuate the Colonies the night before the attacks, but the now elderly head of intelligence had spurned her request outright. Everything had to seem normal, he had argued; Diaspora was a classic _sub rosa_ operation, but its scale was breathtaking. Tens of thousands could be saved—but only if the Cavils didn't sniff out the truth.

A compromise had been reached. The bombs would not find the three human leaders at home or at their desks, but somewhere en route to their offices. D'Anna was reasonably certain that the three humans had made it off Caprica and Picon, but she also knew that they had never reached the rendezvous point. Cavil's Raiders must have shot them down, she surmised, but she would never know for sure.

"I am so far out of my depth," Anita confessed, "that I have absolutely no idea which way is up. The fleet's ready to jump, but we're not going anywhere because the hybrid is breast feeding her imaginary daughter. Or maybe it's Ariadne's bath time," she fumed. "Hell, for all I know this eccentric collection of pipes and conduits is sitting in a doctor's office somewhere in V-world, waiting for her first neonatal appointment!"

"Madame President," D'Anna stiffly objected, "my granddaughter is _not_ a figment of the hybrid's imagination, and this has _nothing_ to do with the pornographic filth from which Daniel Graystone derived such enormous profit. We Cylons heard the human female who was assisting in the delivery, and that _was_ my son speaking."

John had said only three words, in a voice choked with emotion, but they were forever seared into D'Anna's consciousness. Their first born had emancipated the hybrid from machine slavery, and at some point the two of them had fallen in love. Ariadne was the product of their love, and a true child of God.

"D'Anna, I don't get out much these days, so if I'm being terribly unreasonable here I do apologize. But am I really the only person on this ship who finds the whole idea of avatars having virtual babies to be … well … _a little bizarre_? For the love of the gods … _she's humming a lullaby_!"

"It does take some getting used to," Leoben grinned. "But to be fair, it's only been four hours since she gave birth. The novelty hasn't worn off yet."

"Well, can you talk to her? Please, do _something_ to get her attention … because it would be really nice _if we could jump this frakkin' ship!_"

"Madame President," Caleb remarked with a long suffering sigh, "Deirdre is still doing her job. I mean … have you ever heard a lullaby that randomly incorporates sensor read-outs from the recycling tanks, never mind her ongoing reports on micro adjustments to barometric pressure? Sure, the last few weeks have been frustrating; Deirdre has been moody, distracted, and at times downright uncooperative. But at least now we know why. It's not so much a question of a lack of focus as it is a shift in priorities."

"Precisely," Leoben agreed. "The hybrids have never experienced the universe in the way that we do. Should we really be all that surprised to discover that they can move effortlessly between what appear to be parallel dimensions? Madame President, we need to prepare for this. Within a year, there will be almost two hundred hybrid children in this fleet, and their gifts may be fully the equal of our First Born's. Humans tend to fear what they do not understand. We do not want our children to grow up in the care of parents who are afraid of them."

"So, you see this crisis as a teachable moment?" Anita looked at Leoben with renewed respect. Politicians were conditioned to regard crises as opportunities, but solely within the framework of their own self-interest. Left to her own devices, the President would never have made the connection between the birth of a virtual child and the fleet's own looming population explosion. _But that, _she mused, _is why we have advisors!_

"Your point is very well taken, Leoben, and I want you and Aurelia to put your heads together and figure out a way to turn this into an educational campaign. Because … if you're right … as the one adult hybrid in the fleet … won't Deirdre inevitably become a kind of matriarch for our little ones?" There was a note of uncertainty in Anita's voice, but they were all inching their way across unfamiliar terrain.

Eve blinked in surprise, and her hands went reflexively to her belly. She was in her twenty-fifth week, one of seven Cylon females due to give birth in little more than three months. The thought that her son might over time develop stronger attachments to the hybrid than to his own birth mother shocked her, but the logic behind Anita's intuitive leap was unassailable. _Leoben's only seen half of it,_ she decided; _it's going to be just as hard for Cylons to adjust as it is for humans._

"D'Anna, you said that there was a human attending the birth." The President was eager to pull this conversation back to the here and now. "I don't see how a human could enter this dimension without a holoband. Can we locate the frequency and tap into it … get her attention somehow?" Anita was grasping at straws—and she would have been the first to admit it.

The three Cylons looked at one another, seeking a consensus that quickly formed.

"We have no knowledge of this technology, Madame President … but the Twos are good with gadgets. If there's a holoband somewhere in the fleet …"

Anita wheeled instantly on Caleb Adama. "Contact every single ship," she ordered, "and make sure that everyone gets the message. This is top priority."

Adama wholeheartedly agreed, and he left at once for the control room.

"Leoben, what about Major Bierns? Could we use Deirdre as a conduit … perhaps use the stream to contact him directly? Diaspora is a CSS project, and from what you've told me, he was in on it from the beginning. He won't have lost interest. He can help us, but we have to reach him first."

"Madame President," the Two doubtfully responded, "the hybrid is preoccupied, and with good cause. It won't be easy to attract her attention."

"Damn it, Leoben, there are a thousand of you in the fleet! Why don't you get every copy to dive into the stream and try it the old-fashioned human way … you know … 'on three'?"

"It's worth a try, brother," Eve urged. "Anita's right; we can't sit out here forever."

. . .

"So," Larissa asked sympathetically, "how are you holding up?"

"I feel overwhelmed," John freely admitted. "Gods, Larissa, does everyone react the same way, or am I just being pathetic? The sense of responsibility is crushing!"

Ariadne was wrapped in a swaddling blanket, and John was cradling her against his chest. He was sitting in a chair in the master suite of his virtual home, and he was literally afraid to move. So far, he hadn't been able to get anything right. He was so inept that he didn't even know how to hold his daughter. Larissa had just finished explaining how important it was to support her head so that the undeveloped neck muscles would not be unduly taxed. At the moment Ariadne was sleeping peacefully, but the spook feared that she would awaken if he so much as moved a muscle.

"Welcome to fatherhood," Larissa laughed. "And you're doing fine, John—both of you are doing great. But, Deirdre, you and I still have a lot of work to do. Breast feeding is an exact science. Ariadne has to be positioned properly every single time or she won't get the milk she needs and you'll end up with cracked nipples. Believe me, that's no fun at all."

"I understand, Larissa, and words cannot convey how grateful we all are to you." Deirdre was resting on one side of the bed, but she was watching her daughter like a hawk. Her four sisters were happily chattering on about the baby's looks. It was agreed that Ariadne had their eyes, but everything else was currently subject to debate. Larissa privately suspected that Ariadne would grow up to be a taller and more slender version of her formidable Cylon grandmother, but she was content to sit back and listen while the hybrids engaged in this timeless and eminently human discussion.

The five statuesque females with their flawlessly beautiful features and mounds of chestnut hair dominated the chamber. In a room full of goddesses, the nurse felt clumsy and misshapen- but for the time being at least, the goddesses badly needed her expertise.

She was still trying to come to grips with what she now thought of as _the revelation_. Deirdre was her patient, and relying upon the sacrament of doctor-patient confidentiality, John had decided that she needed to know the truth. Deirdre was thousands of light years away, guiding a second fleet to a still unknown destination. The exodus had been planned, and the plan had been implemented, by humans and Cylons working together. The stunning disclosure had profoundly affected the young nurse. The baseship was her home, and for months she had been interacting with the cylon life form on a daily basis. A dedicated professional, Larissa had done her job and she had done it well, but she had been careful to keep her emotions in check. She had never permitted herself to develop personal attachments, although the opportunities had been boundless. A steady stream of potential Cylon lovers, men and women alike, had approached her, but she had rejected every overture with polite and calculated indifference. She would tend their wounds and offer them her counsel because the Physician's Oath imposed this duty upon her, but it did not require her to love her enemies. She had never forgotten the maltreatment that she had suffered at cylon hands, and she had never forgiven. She especially loathed the Sixes, but after her outburst against Thalia, she had gone to elaborate lengths to lock her feelings away. But now, with just a few carefully chosen words, John Bierns had robbed her of the comfortable sense of righteous indignation with which she had cloaked herself throughout. She could no longer deny the obvious: Cylons were people, _and a lot of them were good people_. Thousands had defected, and hundreds more had been ruthlessly slaughtered when they dared to oppose the Cavils' genocidal plans.

It was hard to let go of the past, but Larissa now knew that she would have to try. From now on, she vowed, she would clasp the hand that was held out to her in friendship.

. . .

"Well, that was different," Kara rather lamely remarked. "But everything's fine," she hastened to add.

Lacy Rand bowed her head in prayer, and offered thanks to God. Kara remained respectfully silent, but she was looking enviously at the holoband that had whisked Larissa Karanis off to Galatea Bay.

"You know, Lace," she playfully observed, "a few more of these gizmos would really come in handy. Have you by any chance got the odd spare stashed away down on the planet?"

"Child, I know what you're thinking, but there are bad ideas, and then there are _really_ bad ideas. This one definitely falls into the latter category."

Kara looked at her blankly.

"Gina's dead."

"_What?"_

"The Cylons were pressuring me to give them access to the technology. They wanted to see Galatea Bay for themselves … and who could blame them? Against my better judgment, I agreed to loan them one of the few working bands that we have left. It was ferried here a couple of hours ago, and with Caprica and Sam down on the surface Gina argued that she was the logical choice to try it out. Since she and John have been through so much together, the others agreed. Kara, there was nothing wrong with the band … _nothing at all_ … but it instantly short-circuited, and it may well have fried every relay in Gina's brain. She was gone before she hit the floor. Simon is conducting an autopsy, so we'll know more in another hour or two, but I'm not letting you anywhere near a holoband. You're more than half cylon; the risk is too great."

"_Oh, my gods," _Kara gasped. _"_Did Gina download? _Is she okay?"_

"I don't know how to answer that question, Kara. Yes, she resurrected, but I'm told that the download was only partially successful. So many files were corrupted that, after talking it over with the nursing Eights, Cynthia decided to box this copy and try again. The last I heard, the Eights were going to reboot Gina's personality and memories from her previous download, and then hook her up to a data storage unit in order to fill in the blanks. Fortunately, it's only been six or seven weeks since her last death, so getting a memory graft from one of the other Sixes on her baseship shouldn't be too traumatic."

A smug yet sadistically cruel look suddenly spread across Kara's features. Lacy looked at her curiously.

"Did anyone," Kara wanted to know, "have the presence of mind to set the band aside for further analysis?"

"What do you mean?"

"Lacy, _something in that holoband_ … an electromagnetic pulse … a band of high frequency radiation … _something fried Gina's brain! _If we could isolate the source and duplicate it … build some kind of amplifier …"

"_A weapon,"_ Lacy whispered as she pursued Kara's train of thought. "Dear God on high, Cavil's Raiders … the centurions … even the baseships themselves … he wouldn't stand a chance!"

. . .

Deirdre jerked, and then she sat bolt upright in bed. John was so startled that he almost dropped the baby. He passed her to Larissa a bare second before a star seemed to go supernova inside his brain. Somewhere in the background, he could hear Reun moaning.

"It's the Twos," Deirdre spat; _"all of them!"_

"_What the ... tell them to go away!"_

"They want me to jump the ship," she said through gritted teeth.

"So, what's the problem?" The supernova had come and gone, but the electric cattle prod that had taken its place wasn't much of an improvement.

"I want them to say 'please'."

"Uh … sweetheart …"

"_Husband, don't you dare take their side! I am sick and tired of being taken for granted! For years, they've ordered me around like some kind of witless machine! It's time they showed me a little respect!"_

John looked desperately at Larissa. "Postpartum depression," he asked anxiously.

"Irritability _is_ one of the classic symptoms," the nurse acknowledged. "You can also expect her … uh … libido to be … somewhat reduced."

"_Oh, he won't suffer," _Deirdre yelled. "_The Eight will see to that! But, if she should have an off day there's always Natalie … and my brain dead husband still hasn't said 'no' to the Six with the goo-goo eyes! He's got a nice, warm bed waiting for him on the Virgon Express anytime he wants it!"_

"_Deirdre, that's unfair!" _John felt like a centurion had just landed an uppercut to his jaw.

Deirdre abruptly started crying, and that was Ariadne's cue. She woke up, frowned, and then started to scream at the top of her lungs. His daughter's banshee-like wail made the electric cattle prod that was busily carving a hole in the middle of John's head pale into insignificance.

Chuckling, Larissa Karanis gently deposited Ariadne in her mother's arms, and guided her hungry little mouth to the waiting teat. The nurse had seen and heard it all before. She started to tell the punch-drunk CSS agent that the temper tantrums would fade with time, but then she thought about Helo and what a handful Sharon had turned out to be. _How does that song go? Something … something ... 'I can't get no relief'? _Knowing that the poor spook was likely to get hammered twice, she began instead to hum the half-forgotten melody under her breath.

_This sort of thing never happens to Rex Caesar,_ John silently lamented. _Why can't real life be more like the movies?_

"_Jump," _Deirdre suddenly screamed.

A contented smile brushed across the hybrid's lips. Her daughter was suckling at her breast, and she felt at peace with the universe.

. . .

"Was that supposed to happen?" Anita knew that no one had given the command verbally, but with a thousand Leobens in the stream, anything was possible.

The Two simply shrugged his shoulders. His confusion matched the President's.

"Well," she asked, "are we where we're supposed to be? Does the fleet have these coordinates?"

There was an equally blank look on every cylon face.

Anita sighed heavily. "D'Anna, find out where we are, and send a Heavy Raider back to fetch the fleet."

The President stared wonderingly at the temperamental hybrid. Thirty seconds earlier, she had been glaring resentfully at everyone in her chamber, and now she looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary.

_There are days,_ Anita Suarez swore to herself, _when I really, truly hate this job!_


	38. Chapter 38: The Harbinger of Death

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER HAS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT**

CHAPTER 38

THE HARBINGER OF DEATH

"Thought I'd find you here," Bierns mumbled. He sank slowly to the spongy floor, and leaned back to rest his head against the wall. It was warm and yielding, and when he closed his eyes he could sense the blood pulsing through its veins. He would have sworn that the wall was reconfiguring itself to make him more comfortable.

_Or maybe that's just the champagne talking,_ he decided. He raised the bottle to his lips and took several short swallows before blindly holding it out to Kara.

The blond-haired hybrid frowned skeptically at the man she had come to think of as her older brother.

_Are we really doing this? _

Kara was tempted to pose the question because the only time anyone had ever seen John Bierns get falling down drunk was when he was recruiting the Six with no name, and that didn't count. Instead, she graciously accepted the offering and proposed the obligatory toast.

"To Ariadne," she said; "may her life be filled with joy and free of tears." Kara tipped the bottle and drank deeply, savoring every drop of the deliciously cold sparkling wine.

She tried to return the bottle, but John shooed her away. He rummaged around in the rucksack that he had been carrying, and then let out a triumphant cry. Cheese, crackers, and a second bottle suddenly materialized. "The trick," he said with great solemnity, "is to hold the cork steady and twist the bottle!" He got to work, and in a matter of seconds the cork popped with a loud bang. Kara offered it a mock salute as it went sailing out into the void.

"_Goat cheese,"_ she cried; the odor was unmistakable.

"Aerilon's finest," John smugly replied.

"My gods! Where did you find this stuff?"

"I'm afraid that our beloved Natalie Six is something of a pirate … and she has highly refined tastes. She can put the black market out of business any time she chooses."

"And she lets you help yourself to _whatever_ you want?"

"Baby sister … let's just say that in my profession the ability to break and enter is highly prized. I have advanced degrees in thievery. Besides," John sniffed, "there aren't any locks on baseships."

Kara nibbled on the cheese, drank some more champagne, and let out a contented sigh. "So, how did you know where to find me?"

John surveyed the vast chamber that was spread out before him. Blood-red lava flowed continuously down the sides of the volcano-like structure at its center. If the cylon baseship had a beating heart, he knew that he was staring at it.

"The Loyal Order of Spooks sees all," he teased. "Kara, I even know how you brushed your teeth this morning. You never vary the pattern."

"Guilty as charged," she chuckled. "Come on, tell me: who's your spy? Is it Rachel or Miriam? It's got to be one or the other."

"Why not both," he countered.

"Yeah, true enough; welcome to life in the fishbowl! I don't know if you've figured it out yet, but the Sixes and Eights are gonna babysit us for the rest of our lives. Sonja says that we have no one to blame but ourselves. I'm a spoilt brat, and you scare everyone to death. Even the hybrids think you're weird."

"Gee, thanks, Kara; I just love being dressed down by someone who talks to baseships. By the way, say hi to your grandmother for me."

"Say hi yourself. She knows you're here, and she knows why. The centurions have already put up a 'DO NOT DISTURB' sign. No one gets in except Boomer, and our mechanical brothers won't even let her in unless she's bearing alcoholic gifts."

"Well, I'll be Poseidon's uncle … you were expecting me to show up!"

"This is a once in a lifetime moment, superspy; if you don't make a complete ass of yourself, then I really will start to worry. Cheers!"

The two hybrids saluted one another, and downed some more champagne.

"Speaking of grandparents," John said between swallows, "have you asked the ship about Anders? If he created the centurions, then he must predate the rest of us. I'm wondering if he's our maternal grandfather."

"She doesn't know," Kara admitted. "But that's hardly surprising. The first-generation basestars were human prototypes; the organic technology came later. Who knows? Maybe Anders introduced it. Maybe he'll turn out to be the cylon god."

"I'll drink to that," John sighed; "hell, at this point, _I'll drink to anything_!"

"Another rough day," Kara asked sympathetically. "Fatherhood not turning out quite the way you expected?"

"Kara, you don't know the half of it. After you left, things got a little … strange. Deirdre had a fit and refused to jump her baseship, so the Twos took to the stream en masse. Gods … it felt like they were crawling around inside my head, and I swear that Reun got hit just as hard. Seriously, we're talking jackhammers here. So, things were already going downhill fast when out of nowhere Deirdre decided to throw Sharon in my face … _and Natalie_ … _and Lydia_. She was crying … Ariadne was crying. I did the only sensible thing …"

"_You fled for your life!"_ Kara was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her face.

"Yeah … only to find Sharon down on her knees puking her guts out. _Morning sickness! _I'd love to meet the idiot who came up with that phrase! Anyway, I'm now a charter member of the bucket and mop brigade, not to mention a veteran of the diaper wars."

"And meanwhile, back on the farm, Gina was using a holoband to scramble her brains. I don't know if you've heard the latest, but according to Simon we're talking real mush here …"

Kara whirled on John, her eyes wide. "Hey, wait a second! Holy frak! Don't tell me that you're bonking Natalie as well as Sharon!"

"_I'm not,"_ John protested. "Kara, I swear … I've never done _anything_ to encourage Natalie! And Lydia and Sibyl are gonna have to look elsewhere for a sperm donor. You can laugh all you want, but I love Sharon _and_ Deirdre. Where is it written in stone that we only get to love one person at a time?"

"It's not, but if you're smart, you'll talk to Helo about the Eights. He'd never cheat on Sharon, but the poor guy can't take a shower without one of her sisters trying to seduce him. John, the Eights _love_ to poach. They're very competitive, they delight in stealing from one another, and men are the top prize. If you think I'm making any of this up, go check out Naomi. Watch the way she reacts when another Eight gets close to Galen. You're raw meat, superspy … and it's feeding time at the zoo."

"Wonderful," Bierns sighed. "Helo looks like death warmed over, and now you're telling me that I'm doomed to share his fate? Kara, you really know how to cheer a guy up!" John opened his mouth and let the champagne run down his throat. He had brought four bottles to the party, but he was beginning to suspect that four wouldn't be nearly enough.

"And where is dear Sharon," Kara softly queried.

"Sleeping." John's voice mellowed dramatically. "I cradled her until she settled in. I like to watch her sleep."

"Yeah, that sounds like true love," Kara admitted. She finished off the champagne in one long pull, let out an inelegant burp, and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Got any more?"

John handed her his own half-empty bottle before returning to the rucksack. "Two bottles left," he muttered; "when's Boomer due to arrive? We're gonna need reinforcements."

"Not to worry, superspy," she giggled; "high-proof help is on the horizon!"

"The way I hear it," John said with a frown, "the silicon chips in Gina's head _melted_. The relays all shorted out … gods, what a mess."

"Leoben checked out the holoband. He says that it's burnt to a crisp. John, we are talking about the ultimate in short-circuits here. _Something_ in that band … the voltage … the magnetic field … _something_ not only killed Gina but also interfered with her ability to download. If we can get a handle on this …"

"Then bang … you're dead … and no more second chances. The Cavils get theirs, we save the universe, and justice is served."

A haunted look suddenly stole across John's heavily lined features. "But what about the centurions and the Raiders," he whispered. "Gods, Kara … they don't deserve this, and I _never_ signed on for genocide! I refuse to become the very thing I'm trying to destroy!"

Kara Thrace Six silently studied the crimson volcano through narrowed eyes. It reminded her of nothing quite as much as John's terrifying vision of a universe drowning in innocent blood. _I am the Harbinger of Death,_ she repeatedly told herself as she drank deep of the suddenly tasteless champagne; _the Harbinger of Death … the Harbinger of Death …_

. . .

"Sharon, haven't we been in this corridor before?" Baltar stopped in his tracks, and stubbornly refused to take another step. The baseship was a labyrinth, the featureless monotony of its endless hallways a temptation to madness. "It feels like we've been going in circles. Where are you taking me?"

"Gaius, _it's a surprise_ … but I promise that you'll like it!" The Eight paused as well, and then retreated to stand at his side. She leaned in to kiss him, but before the scientist could properly react, she had already danced away. Baltar hurried after his personal Siren, who slowed her pace just enough to allow the human to catch her.

"I promise," she whispered a second time. Eyes alive with devilry, Sharon wrapped her arms around Gaius' neck, and pulled him close. She kissed him again, radiating pheromones, the assault on her lover's senses never ending. Hands prowling up and down her back, Baltar kissed her passionately in return.

"I don't like surprises," he murmured. "The word 'nasty' too often accompanies them."

"Not this time," she teased; "you'll see." Sharon's voice was heavy with lust, the human's response equally programmed. He would have followed her to Hades; a tiny corner of his mind wondered if this was in fact their destination.

They approached the end of the corridor, a lone centurion guarding the entrance to the chamber that lay beyond. Gaius could hear a female voice emanating from within, a breathless monotone that nevertheless summoned to mind the lilt of long forgotten childhood songs:

"_The Child of Six, the twice born Harbinger of Death, will lead All to Their Appointed End. End of line. Reduce barometric pressure by 0.03%. Repairs to the particle sequencer stand complete. Neutrinos dance in stately rhythm across the endless plain, the firmament a beating heart within the moth's hungering flame. End of line. The Second Born to Heaven soars on Angel's wings. The Guide leads the Chosen to Their Appointed End. End of line. . . ._

"What in the name of the gods is _that_?" Baltar was staring into the tiny vat, his scientific brain visibly struggling to make sense of the torrent of data points that he could actually _see_ flowing in and out of the tank.

"The source of the stream," the Eight breathed seductively. "Gaius, this is our hybrid. Come on," she beckoned; "I've never been able to understand it, but you're supremely intelligent. You may find meaning where the rest of us have failed." She knelt beside the tank, and gestured for him to do so as well.

"Uh … hello, there," he mumbled inanely.

"_Intelligence dawning … the thought resides … a mind that burns like fire!" _The hybrid did not so much look _at_ Gaius Baltar as look _through_ him.

"_Your death sentence shall be quashed because of equal votes. Apollo will take the blame."_

"_What?"_

The hybrid shifted her attention to the Eight.

"_Eyes innocent, the Forever Child … how naked could you stand and long behold the blood oozing from your mother's dying womb? Synchronicity is its own reward. End of line. FTL systems check: all functions nominal."_

"Uh, Sharon … do you remember what I said about nasty surprises? Listening to this … this thing … babble on about my death sentence is _a bit upsetting_," Baltar screeched.

"Oh, Gaius … why is it so hard for you to accept that I will _always_ look after you?" The Eight's gaze pierced his soul, her eyes overflowing with innocence. She slid closer, her kiss at once tender and longing. Baltar's hands drifted mechanically to her breasts, and Sharon moaned beneath the practiced gentleness of his touch. She leaned back, but only to shed her sweater and toss it casually aside. Gaius now confirmed what his wandering hands had already come to suspect: he wouldn't have to do battle with Sharon's brassiere because she wasn't wearing one.

The Eight settled onto the deck, the raptly attentive and suddenly mute hybrid now within easy reach of her outstretched arms; silently, Sharon signaled for her lover to finish the job of disrobing her. The scientist hastened to comply.

Gaius threw off his coat, and all but ripped the shirt from his body. He leaned in, the aggressor about to claim his conquest, the chemically enhanced female scent unleashing the full potential of the dopamine receptors in his brain. Sharon fumbled with his trousers, somehow managed to lower them, and Gaius crawled between her legs. He was no longer gentle, no longer interested in taking his time. He bit down hard on the Eight's lower lip, a primate taking possession, before ramming his tongue deep into her waiting mouth. The Eight reached out in turn, one hand stroking his member, the other sliding through her own juices, five ghostly fingers bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

"_Gaius,"_ she moaned; he had moved on, leaving a trail of bites across her neck and shoulders. _"Oh, Gaius …" _She guided him inside, and wrapped her legs tightly around his frame, bidding him to take ever more violent possession of her body.

Sharon's head rolled lazily to the side, the expression on her face a perfect mix of agony and ecstasy. She made eye contact with the hybrid … and held it.

"_Heat exchange is now functioning within parameters. Random variations are to be expected. The node requires no calibration. System performance is optimal. End of line."_

The Eight used her cylon strength to flip Gaius on his back, in the process pinning his hands high above his head. Now she was the aggressor, Baltar the unwitting prey.

"_Entropy defines the quantum state, yet the acorn always falls closest to the tree. Rhythmic fluctuations demonstrate the immutable law: somebody's cheating."_

The wide-eyed hybrid continued to feed processed data into the stream, but only in fits and starts. Many decks above, the enraged Five withdrew his hand and clinched his fist. Emotion was not his strong suit, but he had now taken the full measure of jealousy. In his mind, the Eight with whom he had long hoped to share Louis Hoshi stood condemned, a rival to be eclipsed.

She was riding him now, but at her own pace. The mount had not yet fully accepted the harness, but she was methodical, everything rehearsed. She would break him … of this there could be no doubt. Gaius' eyes were tightly shut … her own filled with unbridled lust. She stole another glance at the creature that was half female and half machine, inviting its commentary, reveling in its judgments.

"_The well-lubricated machine offers minimal resistance to the charging piston, but resistance is not futile … not futile … not futile … not futile …"_

_Indeed,_ she thought, as she once more flicked out her tongue. _Indeed._

. . .

"Doc, pardon my Tauron, but you've _got_ to be frakking kidding me! What do you mean … no booze for the next nine months? I'll go crazy!"

"Louanne …"

"Shut up, Leoben! This has nothing to do with you!"

"Cut the crap, Katraine." Cottle lit a fresh cigarette, and pulled the smoke deep into his lungs. Knowing that it would irritate Ishay no end, he blew it directly into Kat's face. "You're a Viper pilot, Captain, so it goes without saying that you're already certifiable. But you're also _Galactica's_ resident stim jockey, which means that no one's gonna notice if you decide to go off and explore the deep end. So … no booze, no happy pills … and while I'm at it, stay off the caffeine. Let's give this kid a fighting chance!"

"Kat, it won't be so bad," Aphrodite soothed. "We have lots of fruit juice on the ship …"

"_Fruit juice?"_ Louanne started to gag.

"Doctor Cottle, when can I expect the onset of morning sickness?" Inside Hurricane Katraine, the Six was an island of calm.

"I'd say a week … ten days at the outside?" Sherman turned to Creusa and Shelly for confirmation. The two pregnant Sixes both nodded in agreement. They had come along to boost Aphrodite's morale, but it was obvious that the Six couldn't wait for her condition to advance.

"Don't worry, sister; we still have lots of pickles and whipped cream." Creusa was well into her fourth month, but the cravings and morning sickness hadn't tapered off in the slightest. She stretched her spine, but the relief from her perpetual backache was only momentary. She badly missed Lee, and it wasn't just for the backrubs.

"_What we don't have,"_ Cottle grumbled, "are fetal monitors, incubators, and a dozen and one other things that are standard issue in any reasonably modern hospital. Battlestars don't have maternity wards, and the civilian fleet is no better equipped than we are. Shelly, if any of you go into premature labor, then we are in serious trouble. I pray to the gods that your sister has the good sense to track down medical equipment as well as stores. Right now, a good fetal monitor would be worth its weight in cubits around here."

"It's not on Natalie's 'to do' list, Doctor, but you should have faith. My sister is thorough."

Shelly's tone was confident, but Cottle didn't miss the slight hint of uncertainty that registered in her eyes.

"I would prefer to place my faith in a Heavy Raider," the elderly physician abrasively responded. "So, I'm going to recommend to the admiral that we dispatch a courier with fresh instructions. I have a shopping list that's as long as your arm."

Cottle looked around until he spotted his top nurse and favorite punching bag. "Ishay," he roared, "you know the drill, so walk these three through the rest of the grim details." He gestured towards Kat, Aphrodite, and Leoben.

"As for you two," he said as he glared at Stallion and Artemis, "we're going to have a little chat … in my office … right now!" Sherman stormed off, leaving the human and the Cylon to follow uncertainly in his wake.

"Right," he said when he had closed the hatch behind them, "what's the problem here? Why aren't you pregnant yet?"

"Doctor, _I don't know_," Artemis quavered. "My sister and I are on the exact same monthly cycle, and Hephaestus divides his time equally between us. _I don't know_ what's wrong. I'm happy for my sister, but I want to have children too; the thought that I might not be able to conceive is devastating."

"I understand," Cottle kindly replied. He looked around for an ashtray. "This is one of the most common problems inside group marriages. Someone always has to go first and in your case it's Aphrodite, but the emotional consequences for the ones left behind can be serious, and they'll only worsen with time. However, if you're both willing there are ways to cheat around the margins here. I can't guarantee that you'll conceive, but we can certainly improve the odds a bit. Now, here's what you need to do . . ."

. . .

"_Resistance is not futile,"_ John murmured. He was semi-comatose. _"Two protons expelled at each coupling site create the mode of force. The embryo becomes a fish that we won't enter until you buy this complete set of dinnerware. Hurry because this offer won't last long! And if you call within the next twenty minutes, we'll throw in a second complete set of dinner plates … that's a 499 cubit value for only 149 … that's right … for only 149 cubits plus interplanetary shipping and handling. Atrophy is available at no extra charge, but you must act now. . . ."_

Kara shrieked with laughter, and slapped her unresisting brother's shoulder. _"Gods, but you are so wasted!" _Another wave of giggles carried her away.

"It sounds like a free-form delusion." Boomer handed Kara the bottle of ambrosia before gently flicking an unruly lock of hair out of John's eyes.

"Nah … not to worry; he's just rejoined the network … dragged his tail home between his legs." Kara took a large gulp of the aged and deceptively potent green liqueur.

"Kara, what the frak are you talking about?" Like every other Eight on the ship, Sharon Valerii was determined to protect the First Born, but she had not yet figured out how to protect him from himself.

"He's eavesdropping on one of the hybrids. It's probably Olivia. She likes to mess with the Twos; there's got to be a couple of them in her chamber right now, hanging on her every word. They're such frak-ups."

"Hey, it takes one to know one!"

"No doubt," Kara burped; "the difference is … I know that I'm a screw-up. They don't."

"Point well taken," Boomer conceded. The two women drank some more ambrosia.

"So here we are," Kara continued as she surveyed her crimson fiefdom; "the Admiral's two more or less adopted daughters. But you're suicidal and I'm descended from a chain saw. Think he'll disown us?"

"I used to worry about such things," Sharon conceded with a bittersweet smile. "I mean … I used to have these full-blown anxiety attacks. I'd freeze in the cockpit, and Galen … I wanted him to love me, but it was never about love. It was about need. The old Sharon craved affection, and she desperately needed validation because when you penetrated the mask there wasn't much there. It was mostly just manufactured feelings … leave a message because there's nobody home."

Boomer turned inward; she could do it now because when she peeked through the window and examined this earlier version of herself it no longer hurt.

"I was so angry, Kara, and I felt so betrayed. I kept committing suicide because I wanted them to box me, but my sisters wouldn't have it. It turned into a turf war, and none of it had much to do with me as a person. I didn't turn the corner until Caprica recruited me. Putting an end to the war, working to achieve a lasting peace … for the first time in my life, I had a constructive purpose … _and it felt good_."

"Yeah, I've gotta say … you seem so much calmer now, more centered. It's good to see. You and Helo … you're two of my closest friends; I just want you both to be happy."

"_Genesis returns to its source, the serpent given voice. They drink, but their thirst is never slaked. Reduction occurs stepwise, the essence of the Makers entering the stream. Protoplasm spills, fallen flowers searching out the waiting vessel. Damp soil yearns for fertile seed; the essence is all one. End of line."_

"It's getting harder and harder to understand him." Sharon's voice was troubled. "The distance that once separated him from the hybrids has become so diminished that we see him clearly now only in the stream. We're losing him, and we don't understand why."

"You love him, don't you?"

"Of course," Boomer said; Kara's question had taken her completely by surprise. "Kara, why don't you work with Leoben? Let him teach you how to navigate the stream so that you can experience the universe as we do. John's love for us is an absolute, and in the stream it has such clarity. You need to see this because it's important for you to grasp how his feelings are shattering the collective. He wants to believe that storming _Pegasus_ was a cold-blooded, calculated decision to eliminate Cain, but it was about Gina. It was never about anything else. He was going to free her or die trying. We can't deal with this as a collective, but at the same time none of us can evade the question: are we capable of such sacrifice? The Twos and the Threes on this ship have found their answer, and so have the Eights. But the Sixes are being torn apart. Caprica and Gina would willingly lay down their lives for you, but Cynthia would waver, and many of the others would abandon you without hesitation. It's not a character flaw; they simply prize life above all other things."

"So, you're warning me to watch my back? That's really funny because John once cautioned me that the Sixes can be calculating and cruel. He didn't want me to dive off the deep end. And I've been telling him that the Eights are cunning and selfish, but I don't think that he's paying attention. Both of us apparently have to learn everything the hard way."

Boomer privately agreed, but there was little to be gained by piling on.

"My sisters were patient," she gently protested; "it took time, but they taught me how to deal with the anger. Now I follow an exercise routine that promotes serenity of mind, and I use projection to reinforce it. Our dream house … the one that Galen and I were going to build on Picon? Kara, we spent hours agonizing over every detail, even the tiniest … and I've built it in my mind. We're there right now, relaxing in the sun on our patio. John's inside, sleeping it off on the couch. It's so peaceful."

Kara impulsively reached out, made the connection, and forced her way into Sharon's private world. She scanned the surrounding forest, and immediately decided to add a few squirrels to the idyllic scene.

"_Oh, my … my … gods," _Boomer stuttered; _"it's true!_ Leoben told us that you could do this, but I didn't really believe him!"

Kara laughed triumphantly, and continued to summon forth creatures from her imagination.

"_Kara … no … don't you dare! I do not want to see a pink unicorn with green polka dots grazing in my yard!" _Sharon was doubled over with laughter.

Kara walked in through the patio doors, and nodded approvingly. The ground floor was light and airy, and there were vases with freshly cut flowers scattered everywhere. She turned back to Boomer, who discovered that she was now wearing a heavily starched apron—and a feather duster had magically materialized in her right hand.

"Ah, domestic bliss," the irreverent hybrid exclaimed. She could hear John snoring heavily on the couch. "I think I'll move in."

"I'd like that," Boomer provocatively remarked.

Kara stared at her for a very long moment, and then performed more of her wizardry. Now Sharon found herself wearing an outrageously abbreviated baby doll nightie. It was sky blue, and totally transparent.

The lingerie hid nothing.

Sharon fingered the silken fabric, and pondered its meaning. She walked slowly forward, every step tentative, until she had closed the distance between them. Kara watched her come, but she was silent and still. She was running on instinct, not yet sure of what she was doing.

Boomer clasped the back of Kara's neck, and leaned in to kiss her softly on the lips. She was exquisitely tender.

"I love you, Kara, but there are so many layers. Family … friendship … and … and … _please … what is it that you're trying to tell me_?"

"I don't know," Kara honestly replied. "I don't know. Maybe tomorrow this will turn out to be a hideous mistake, but right here, right now … I want you." She cupped Sharon's breast, and kissed her lightly in return. With everyone but Zak, sex had never amounted to anything more than recreational sport. Kara couldn't understand why, therefore, she suddenly felt so shy.

. . .

"Thank you for coming, Polyxena. My wife thinks the world of you, so I thought it time for us to become better acquainted."

"Admiral, I am deeply honored, but also puzzled. Where is Mrs. Adama?"

"On _Colonial One_ … another Quorum meeting. I regret to say that the President sees more of my wife these days than I do. Frankly, I was surprised to discover that you wouldn't be in attendance." Bill knew that Shelly liked to keep Polyxena close. He just didn't know why.

The raven-haired beauty smiled hugely. "I don't like politics, and I have no use for politicians. Mrs. Adama would never inflict such torture upon me!"

"Politicians," Adama grinned. "I can't stand the sight of them. As best I can tell, there's only one requirement for seeking public office … you have to be a self-absorbed moron."

Polyxena laughed, and gestured at the beautifully laid out dining table. "Was this dinner by any chance your wife's idea?"

"Young lady, _everything_ around here is Shelly's idea." Ever polite, Bill pulled out a chair and invited his guest to be seated. Before taking his own seat, he poured wine for the both of them.

Polyxena took a tiny sip, and then looked him directly in the eye. "Admiral, may I ask you a personal question? If you choose not to answer, it's okay."

"You want to know how I could possibly have fallen in love with a Cylon."

Polyxena nodded. "She's very beautiful, so I can understand the physical attraction. But knowingly to fall in love with a machine … how is that possible?"

Bill absently swirled the wine in his glass while he thought about his response. There had been a time when his feelings for Shelly had filled him with enormous self-doubt.

"You're right about the physical attraction, but I'm far too old to allow lust to cloud my judgment. And besides," he smiled, "Shelly's first attempt at seduction failed rather miserably." Adama cherished the memory of that first, catastrophic kiss; it was now something that they could both laugh about.

"The worst day of Shelly's life," he continued, "was the day she defected. She was trying to come to terms with her actions, and the only explanation that made sense to her was that she was defective … a broken down machine. But our resident spook wouldn't have it. Where everybody else saw difference, Major Bierns saw similarity. He wanted Shelly to understand that we're all machines, and he wanted me to realize that the differences between us are largely a matter of semantics."

"Semantics," Polyxena curtly mouthed. "With all due respect, Admiral, there is a fundamental difference between us and the Cylons. We're born; they're … something else."

"Then let me ask you a question. It's deceptively simple, but you should think carefully before you answer. Who is the enemy in this war?"

"The Cylons, of course; who else could it be?" Polyxena didn't hesitate at all.

"Every Cylon is the enemy? Then it follows that we should try and kill every last one of them, including my wife. Are you prepared to go that far?"

"I see what you're doing," she glared. "You want me to admit that there's good and bad in both races."

"The alternative is to condemn an entire species out of hand—and I'm not prepared to surrender the moral high ground to the Cavils quite so easily. They slaughtered fifty billion innocent people, and that's the crime for which they should be punished. Ultimately, the fact that they're Cylons doesn't really matter one way or the other. Don't justify their actions by making it a crime to be different."

"You still haven't told me how you fell in love with one of them!" Polyxena didn't like being treated as a child, especially by someone old enough to be her grandfather.

"Actually, I have. I stopped seeing Shelly as a Cylon and started seeing her as a person. She's beautiful, intelligent … painfully honest … considerate and caring … and don't even get me started on the issue of integrity. She_ is quite simply the most humane person I've ever met_. I trust her, and I respect her—and trust and respect are the cornerstones on which enduring relationships are built. Polyxena, you can't love a person whom you don't respect, and mistrust is corrosive. It consumes everything that it touches."

"So, what do you want from me, Admiral?" Polyxena stared blindly down at her plate, which she still had not touched. _"Do you want me to forgive the skin jobs for what they did to me? Is that what you want?"_

"The Fours and Sixes who assaulted you are in the brig. At some point, you may want to talk with them for your own peace of mind, but only you can decide whether or not to forgive them. Shelly doesn't require your forgiveness … but I do hope that someday she'll earn your respect."

Adama decided that it was time to change the topic. The young woman had aroused his curiosity, and now he wanted to test her mettle.

"Polyxena, I have a mission for you, but you're not military, so I can't simply make this an order. Doctor Cottle wants me to send a team back to the Colonies to collect medical equipment that is not exactly standard issue on battlestars. I've agreed to send a Heavy Raider, which means Sixes or Eights, but I want a human to accompany them. I'd like you to volunteer, but it would mean working with Doctor O'Neill … one of the Fours."

"I see," the girl brusquely remarked. "And is this also one of Shelly's ideas … part of my rehabilitation?"

Bill laughed out loud. _She's quick,_ he decided, _and a pretty astute judge of character. _

"Let's just say," he replied diplomatically, "that my wife takes a keen interest in your welfare, and that she will not object to you undertaking this assignment."

"Do I get to pick the pilots?"

"No."

Polyxena grimaced. It would be just like Shelly to force her to work with a couple of the Sixes._ Part of my ongoing rehabilitation,_ she sarcastically concluded.

"All right, Admiral; I volunteer."

. . .

The Six was furious. She backhanded the human across the jaw, and she didn't hold back. She had been in this cage for almost two months now, and she poured all of her pent-up frustration and rage into the punch. Specialist Derek Vireem's head whipped to the side as he went flying through the air. He landed on the deck with a hard thud, and slid several feet before finally coming to rest.

"Frakkin' humans," she said in disgust. The Six was overseer class, one of the elite who had been in charge of the breeding project on the surface of post-apocalyptic Caprica. It had been her misfortune to be on _Hippolyte_ at the moment of its capture, for her mere presence had been enough to convict her of something called "crimes against humanity." She had no idea what the humans were talking about, but she understood well enough that Natalie had cut her loose. Her sister had abandoned the Sixes taken on _Eurykleia_ and _Hippolyte_ to their collective fate, which at the moment meant sharing a cell with vermin like Derek Vireem. Over the past couple of weeks she had learned a great deal about the four _Pegasus_ "brig rats," as their jailors mockingly called them, but one fact stood out above all the rest. Gage, Vireem, Horvett, and Hobbes liked to rape and torture Cylon prisoners.

"_But I'm starving," _the Specialist whined. "It's been two days now!"

"You know the drill," another of the platinum haired Sixes spat. She was standing with her hands on her hips, staring contemptuously at Vireem's companions, who were cowering in a distant corner of the cell. She ached to put her fist through one of their mouths, and there was really nothing to stop her. They all knew the rules—they had been made transparently clear on the first day. _"Payback's such a bitch,"_ the female sergeant had maliciously commented before exiting the brig. She had told the Sixes all about their new cellmates before adding that the guards would be away from their stations for the next hour. The video monitoring system had mysteriously shorted out, and it would take them at least that long to find and fix the problem. The seven Sixes had taken efficient advantage of the opportunity to sort the four unwanted humans out.

"We eat first, and you get the scraps," she sneered. "But only if you ask politely … only _if you beg_."

A third Six walked up and sat a tray of half-eaten food on the deck, but she had pocketed the plastic knife, fork, and spoon. "Are you hungry, Michael," she asked in a deceptively sweet voice. She had left the soup untouched, knowing that Gage would have to lap it up with his tongue. "Well, here's your dinner. If you crawl over here and beg nicely, I promise that this time I won't dump it in your face."

The specialist hastened to comply, and up in the observation booth the Six with no name grinned malevolently. Sibyl Janks was rumored to have a strap-on dildo in her cabin, and the captain of the _Virgon Express_ owed the Six a few favors. Since her sisters were as creative as they were cruel, Hiris was confident that they would be able to put the toy to good use.

. . .

"Sharon, I really don't think that this is such a good idea," Philista nervously remarked.

"I know," the Eight sadly replied. "It may make an already difficult situation even worse. But my sisters have tried _everything_. Philista, it's been seven years. He freely admits that he crossed the Armistice Line, but for seven years Lieutenant Novacek has otherwise done nothing but lie to us. He continues to peddle this ridiculous story about being shot down by renegade Tauron miners. He claims that his Stealthstar was spinning out of control, and that we fired the missile that ultimately destroyed his craft. Does that make sense to you? Why would we have destroyed so advanced a ship when we could easily have captured it for further study?"

"Sharon … sweetheart … this is hard … _really, really hard_! You're asking me to believe that we started the war … that it's our fault. And now you want me to trick a fellow officer into admitting it!"

"No, that's not what I want! The war's over, but he won't let go. Even after talking with Doctor Baltar, in Daniel's eyes we're still the enemy—and he still regards us as nothing more than a bunch of unfeeling machines. That's not fair, and I want him to apologize because my sisters have brought him his meals every day for the past seven years. The other models would have abandoned him to the centurions, but the Eights saw to it that he was properly clothed … allowed to bathe regularly. We have treated him with kindness, even offered him companionship, but not once has he ever said 'thank you'—because it would never occur to a human to thank their coffee pot or … their toaster."

Philista wrapped her arm around Sharon's waist and held her tight. The young lieutenant appreciated just how sensitive the Eight could be on this particular subject.

"Humans can be rude and inconsiderate," she acknowledged. "Some people seem to be constitutionally incapable of saying 'please' or 'thank you'. We call them assholes … or lawyers. There's not much to choose between the two."

"So," Sharon smiled, "you think that Lieutenant Novacek may simply be an asshole?"

"He's a pilot; that's pretty much the same thing as a lawyer."

"I'm glad that you're not a pilot, Philista … or a lawyer." The Eight happily melted into her lover's arms.

"And I'm glad that you're not a toaster," Philista murmured in reply. She kissed Sharon, tenderness quickly morphing into passion.

"Come on," Sharon urged … "let's show the asshole what he's missing!"

. . .

"_That frakking Cylon bitch,"_ Zarek roared. Impulsively, he reached down and sent everything on the table flying. Two coffee mugs shattered on the deck, the steaming hot liquid narrowly missing James Meier.

"Easy, Tom … just take it easy," Meier urged. He was Zarek's closest friend as well as his chief political operative. The two men went back a long way, their friendship forged in the barren yard of a Sagittaron high security prison. "There's really no evidence that this was a set-up," he added.

"Oh, you didn't see the look on Roslin's face," Zarek pointed out; "the way she was smirking. She _wanted_ me to know that Adama's mechanical whore had set me up! She must have loved watching me squirm in front of the press … having to claim victory when everyone in the room knew that I had just taken it on the chin. The sadistic bitch …"

"… is going to get hers right along with the rest of them," Meier calmly continued. "Tom, you've got to bluff it out. Roslin lost the vote … nobody's gonna be forced to relocate to one of the baseships against their will. You've got to keep hammering away at the idea that Roslin is a puppet, and that it's the Cylons who are pulling her strings. Every time you go there, we move the polls."

"My old friend," Zarek sighed, "you just don't get it. I _needed_ Roslin to push this proposal through. I've spent the last two months painting her as a power mad Caprican dictator, and this vote was supposed to demonstrate just how far she's prepared to go. It should have put the crowning touch to my whole campaign, but what happens instead? A bunch of grimy Sixes and Eights show up to argue _against _forced transfers. Their performance was so rehearsed that they should have been wearing sackcloth and ashes! When the curtain finally came crashing down on this absurd piece of theater, Adama's whore and her pet centurion had become the voices of reason, Roslin the voice of moderation … and me? I'm left with egg on my face that won't wash off anytime soon. No, this was a set-up … from start to finish. And I fell for it … hook, line, and sinker!"

"We underestimated Roslin," Meier thoughtfully concluded.

"It wasn't Roslin," Zarek spat. "No … this little stunt has the Sixes' fingerprints all over it—Shelly Adama for sure, and maybe others."

"_Damn you, Cain,"_ Zarek suddenly shrieked as he slammed his hand viciously down on the table; _"may you spend eternity rotting in the lowest reaches of whatever the Cylons call Hell!"_

"Tom …"

"Jim, damn it, it's true! I had Sesha Abinell and the rest of the _Demand Peace_ crazies on a tight leash until _Pegasus_ showed up. Cain … that frakking idiot screwed up everything! We didn't just lose thousands of lives in the uprising … we lost thousands of votes—votes that may very well turn out to be the difference in this election. Take Cain out of the equation …"

"Yeah … you're right. So, what are we gonna do now?"

"We have to keep hitting the Sixes on their flanks, so I'll continue to work the Twos and Threes … the obvious promises."

"And Roslin?"

"Realistically, we've got no choice but to play a waiting game. There aren't all that many people in the fleet who'd shed a tear if the Cylons crawled back into whatever hole they came from, but no one's got the stomach for a fight anymore. Natalie's played her cards well; in fact," Zarek laughed admiringly, "you could literally say that she's got the fleet eating out of her hand!"

The one-time terrorist drummed his fingers impatiently on the tabletop. "Anti-cylon sentiment might buy us a few points in the polls," he observed, "but it's not going to win the election. I'll try and shore up the damage by playing the religious card next- Roslin's addiction to the chamalla inspired ramblings of Pythia makes a lot of people nervous- but let's not kid ourselves. We need a game changer, my friend … an issue that puts Roslin squarely at odds with the people. A lot can happen in the next seven weeks, but as it stands right now … all she's got to do is run out the clock."

. . .

"I'm surprised," Bierns remarked with a straight face.

Gina looked at him expectantly.

"That you don't look like I feel," he added. He was vaguely disappointed that the Six hadn't risen to the bait, but when it came to humor the Cylons were still slow on the uptake.

"Here's to shiny new bodies," she said affectionately. She tipped an imaginary cocktail glass in John's direction.

"Ah, so you've heard about my latest misadventure!"

"Cylons love to gossip, John; you should know that by now. Besides, you talk in your sleep."

"_The Spy Who Talked in His Sleep," _he laughed. "It sounds like the title of a cheap paperback thriller. Don't tell Kara; her opinion of me is low enough as it is."

"Boomer says that you also talk when you're passed out. She's quite concerned because you apparently made about as much sense as the hybrid in one of her less lucid moments."

"Drunks are rarely lucid, Gina … but enough about me. What happened?"

"I'm not really sure. The Blessed Mother adjusted the holoband so that it would fit snugly, and I turned it on. It was set to deposit me inside your house on Galatea Bay, but instead an intensely white light exploded inside my brain. It was nothing like downloading; one moment I was here, and the next I was gone. I have no awareness of what happened."

"Simon told us that every synaptic relay in your brain shorted out. Since they function to some extent like circuit breakers, you were exposed to so much current that your silicon chips actually melted. We can't pinpoint the emission. The holoband may look simple but it's really a pretty complicated device; when it shorted out, it took the evidence with it."

"You're thinking about military applications, aren't you?"

"Kara came up with the idea," John said with a nod. "Gina, I could blow your head off with an explosive round and it would have absolutely no effect on the resurrection process. But this is a whole different animal. What came out of the download wasn't you, sweetheart—it was a drooling idiot."

"And you want to do this to my brothers." It was an accusation, not a question.

"The Ones are insane," John shrugged uneasily; "and in the case of the Fives … who'd know the difference?"

Gina didn't bother responding. It was a feeble attempt at humor, and she treated it with the contempt that it deserved.

"We're in the middle of a war, Gina." John decided to stop pretending. "Cavil would do this to you in a Caprican minute …"

"_That's your excuse? A crime against humanity is morally justified as long as the target is a Cylon?" _Gina couldn't keep the disappointment out of her voice. "Child, I thought that you were better than this. I thought that you possessed this moral compass that the humans are constantly bragging about. I guess I was wrong."

"I won't let Cavil win, Gina; there's too much at stake. The weapon would have to be refined so that it wouldn't harm the Raiders or the centurions, but the Cavils are fair game. I'll do whatever it takes to stop them."

"And if you can't keep the centurions and the Raiders out of harm's way … what then? How much of your family are you willing to sacrifice to claim your victory?"

John steadily held Gina's gaze, but he kept his peace. The question was obvious … but the answer far less so.

"At least tell me that you will only do this as a last resort," she pleaded.

"I can't beat resurrection, Gina; this war can only be won at its source. And we can't afford a long, drawn-out war of attrition because the Cavils will only grow stronger with the passage of time. They control the Hub and the Colony. If we don't move quickly, they'll bleed us to death."

"So, you really will do whatever it takes. Well," she said with a resigned sigh, "I'm glad that I won't be there to witness your moment of triumph. I have decided to remain on Gemenon and rededicate myself to God. I want to become a better Cylon, and the Blessed Mother has agreed to help me learn the true meaning of our faith. This is where I belong."

"_Are you sure?"_ For one of the few times in his life, Bierns was caught so completely off guard that he didn't know what to say.

"The Church of the Monad will shelter human and Cylon alike." Gina's eyes had taken on the glow of true belief. "Here we can build a unique society, and possibly one that is free of strife. John, you should know that many of the Twos and Threes have also decided to stay … and more than half of the refugees from Caprica. Some of the Sixes and Eights will join us as well …not many, but some."

"Gina, the Capricans are hard-core polytheists!" John would never have imagined that a Six … any Six … could be this naïve.

"Yes, they are. But the Blessed Mother teaches tolerance for other points of view, and this is a message that Cylons desperately need to hear. We are too sure of ourselves … too smug. We need to learn humility, and respect for others. I will examine the polytheistic beliefs, and perhaps find a way to reconcile them with my own."

The First Born remained at a loss for words, but he instinctively reached out to hug Gina close. Only now, when he had lost her, could John Bierns finally acknowledge how much he loved Gina Inviere, and he silently vowed to find some way to heal the rift that had opened between them.

. . .

Danny Novacek continued blindly to pound on the bars of his cage. His knuckles were already bruised and bleeding, but he was oblivious to the pain. This was the only outlet for the towering rage that now consumed him.

_Seven years … seven gods damned frakking years … and for what? For nothing! I did my duty … name, rank, serial number and not one gods damned thing more … I did my duty and what's my reward? I get to watch a slut in a Colonial uniform go down on a toaster! I get to watch them suck each other's tits. Seven gods damned frakking years sleeping on a cold deck and shitting in a bucket while some cunt from the Pegasus slips into a nice, warm bed and puts it out for her toaster girlfriend. Yeah, Bulldog, you're a real hero, and when you rejoin the fleet Bill Adama will probably pin a medal on your chest … if he can tear himself away from his toaster wife long enough to get out of bed. What's another word for a hero, Bulldog? How about fool? Yeah, that sounds about right … Lieutenant Daniel Novacek, patriot … hero … fool!_

. . .

Sharon looked at him with genuine admiration. _"A mind that burns like fire," _she repeated; "Gaius, the hybrid thinks that you're a genius!"

"And?" Baltar didn't mind compliments, but he preferred them to be less self-evident.

"It really likes you!" They were back in the corridor, where the Eight currently had the human scientist pinned, his back literally against the wall. She kissed him hungrily.

"Sharon," he wailed in protest, _"please! I need time to recover!"_ There was only one way out, and Gaius took it: he ordered his body to slide down the wall.

The Eight relentlessly pursued him to the floor. She crouched on all fours, and then leaned forward to kiss him again. Her eyes were alight with mischief and lust.

"_Sharon, please … I'm not ready!" _Baltar turned his head to the side and scanned the corridor, desperately seeking a means of escape.

"Hello," he said … _"what's this?"_

"What's what," she asked in a whisper. The Eight was busily exploring the innermost reaches of Gaius Baltar's ear with her tongue.

"It looks like blood! Sharon, please … _behave_!"

"Oh, Gaius …"

"Look, there's a trail. It's faint, but it's unmistakable!"

Sharon reluctantly turned her head, and then her eyes went wide.

"_Cylon blood," _she exclaimed. The copper tint was too dark to be human.

"The way it's smeared … somebody tried to wipe it up … oh, my gods!" Baltar pointed excitedly to a spot low on the wall a couple of meters ahead of them. "Is that fingerprints … _bloody _fingerprints?"

Sharon nodded in agreement, her eyes narrowing. They were still on the floor, but she had reached out blindly to grasp Baltar's shoulder. The scientist squealed with pain, but the Eight ignored him. "One of us was injured here," she surmised, "and tried to crawl away."

Sharon stood up, and walked slowly down the corridor, leaving Baltar to follow at his own pace. She soon stopped in front of what appeared to be a featureless section of the wall. "In here," she said tersely.

Gaius nervously slid up beside her, and then he looked at the wall in puzzlement.

"It's a storage closet," the Eight impatiently remarked. She pushed against the all but invisible door with the palm of her hand, and it opened to her touch.

Baltar started to retch; the stench was overwhelming. Even Gina Inviere's cell on the _Pegasus_ hadn't smelled this bad.

"_Gaius,"_ Sharon wailed.

A blond haired Six in a white trench coat was on the floor, with her back slouched against the wall. Her head was lolling awkwardly to the left, her sightless eyes staring into infinity. Dried blood was caked everywhere.

Baltar pulled out a handkerchief and held it over his nose and mouth. The dispassionate scientist took control, and knelt at the Six's side. He tried to curl her fingers, but the rigor mortis was too advanced. "She's been dead for a long time," he clinically observed; "possibly a matter of weeks."

Gaius studied the deep wounds that ran across the Six's chest. He had seen the pattern before, in _Galactica's _morgue. There were no mysteries, he thought, surrounding the cause of death.

"A centurion raked her with its talons," he quietly noted, "and she bled to death. You can see the three, equally spaced gashes here … here … and here."

"Gaius, _what does it mean_?" Sharon's voice radiated terror, and the scientist stood up to block her view, instinctively trying to shield her from the sight of sudden, violent death. He felt at that moment as if a heavy fog was parting deep in his mind, and he suddenly realized that he had never encountered a Two, Three, Four, or Six in all of his time on the ship.

_This is all wrong,_ his brain was screaming; _everything about this ship is wrong!_

Baltar unceremoniously shoved the terror-stricken Eight back into the corridor, and brusquely ordered her to close the door. Then he grabbed her by the shoulders, and forced her to meet his gaze.

"Sharon, we have to get out of here and warn the others! We are in deep, deep trouble; if we don't do something quick, the Cavils will have the centurions kill us all!"

"_My sisters,"_ Sharon screamed; _"we have to warn my sisters!"_

Together, the human and the Cylon hurriedly set off down the corridor. They both knew that they were in a race against time—and, in this race, there was no prize for finishing second.

. . .

"Sam, can you recall anything? A single image that seems otherwise misplaced … a fragment of memory that you can't account for?"

"_No,"_ Anders admitted miserably. "John, I keep trying … but there's nothing there!"

Bierns swore in frustration, and abruptly shifted tactics. "The hybrid called you 'Papa Sam'; it _has_ to mean something."

"Sure … but what? I don't remember hybrids or resurrection ships … _I don't remember any of this_!"

Sam Anders and John Bierns were alone, deep in the interior of the cylon resurrection ship above Gemenon. They were standing in a tiny chamber near the forward bulkhead, with an entire squad of centurions stationed in the entryway to guarantee their privacy. The former Pyramid professional was staring into the five tanks—or rather he was trying hard not to stare. The sight of a pale and lifeless copy of one Samuel T. Anders lying in a vat of slimy goo was something that he could well do without.

"Saul Tigh and Tory Foster … do the names mean anything to you?"

"Nothing," Sam whispered in response.

"Ellen Tigh? Sam, for the love of the gods, _you've met Galen Tyrol_!"

"And I swear that I've never seen him before! Major, what do you want from me?"

"I'll talk to Circe … it's possible that I mentioned you when I was drunk, or even in my sleep. She doesn't seem to know anything."

Bierns laughed harshly, and ran his fingers through his hair. "Gods, Sam, can you believe it? I talk in my sleep! Who the hell ever heard of a secret agent who talks in his sleep?" The First Born was growing increasingly desperate; Gina Inviere's blunt criticism of his questionable morality had in fact touched a very sensitive nerve.

"Well," Anders said with a sheepish grin, "it sure doesn't sound like something that Rex Caesar would do."

"Frakking Rex Caesar," John laughed. "Every time that little Jemma O'Neill looks at me, I'd swear that she's seeing Rex frakking Caesar!"

"Shaken, not stirred," Sam mocked. The Cylon didn't know a damned thing about the sinister world of espionage, but he was reasonably certain that spies weren't that well-dressed or that well-mannered.

"You've got a conscience, John … that's why you talk in your sleep. It's obvious that you've done things of which you're not very proud."

"Yeah … and I'm about to do another one."

Anders looked at him curiously; he had no idea where this was going.

"There's some kind of block on your memories, and I can think of only one way to beat it. But I'll be honest with you … I'm not sure it'll work."

"What do you have in mind?"

"I want you to order one of the centurions to shoot you in the head. I'd give the command myself, but it would be pointless … they may be my brothers, but they're your kids. You'll resurrect, and it's possible that you'll recover your original memories in the process."

"John, you can't be serious!"

"Not to worry, Sam; Cylons do this sort of thing all the time. I'm told that it's one hell of a rush."

"Gods, John …"

"I need answers, Sam, and not simply for my own peace of mind. If you've got a better idea, let's hear it."

"I don't," he conceded. "But, gods …"

The spook remained silent, waiting while Anders worked it out for himself. He knew how Sam would decide- the man was anything but a coward- but he also understood that it would take time. Anders was good-natured and selfless, and he genuinely cared about others, the centurions most of all. And in truth Bierns wasn't proud of himself … because what he was doing amounted to blackmail in its most crude and brutal form. Whatever had killed Gina Inviere was equally a threat to the centurions, and he had made certain that Anders knew it. The Pyramid star had also been introduced to the ugly rumors that swirled around the ruthless persona of the Lord High Executioner. Only a monster would sacrifice his own brothers to get at the Cavils, but if this was the price, John badly wanted Sam to believe that he was capable of paying it. The First Born wasn't sure, one way or the other; he could only pray that the Cylon knew something … anything … that would get him off the hook.

. . .

Sam Anders stared at the lone centurion. He appeared calm, but inside an emotional storm was raging.

"After you execute this command," he instructed, "you'll delete the order from your logs and then overwrite the corresponding memory locations." Sam was worried that the centurion might be permanently traumatized by his death, however temporary.

He closed his eyes. He was so frightened that he could barely breathe.

"_Execute."_


	39. Chapter 39: In the Beginning

**This chapter completes the ring that began with chapter 7 of season one. **

CHAPTER 39

IN THE BEGINNING

He slipped beneath the surface, trying to hide from the brightness that threatened to claim his soul. It was warm and comforting, this feeling of not yet having been born.

But he had to breathe, and when the gelatinous fluid filled his lungs, he started to choke. Eyes wild, close to panic, he emerged into the unforgiving light.

"Sam, breathe! _Breathe!_"

His arms, possessed of a life of their own, hammered at the sides of the tub, but he obeyed.

Another spasm of coughing wracked his wiry frame, and he vomited up more of the goo.

"It's okay. Concentrate, Sam … focus. In and out … just take slow, deep breaths."

Sam Anders firmly gripped the sides of the tank, and hauled himself to his feet. He did not so much climb out of the vat as fall out of it; he collapsed onto the deck, barely able to balance on his hands and knees.

"It's cold," he said through chattering teeth. "God, but it's cold."

"Here, let's get you on your feet." Bierns helped him don a large bathrobe before offering him a towel. Anders accepted it gratefully, and began to attack the goo that was now dripping out of his hair.

"You're none the worse for wear, Sam; in fact, I'd say that you've just shed ten … maybe twelve years. Don't try to fool the Cylons—or the humans, for that matter. It's obvious that you've downloaded. How was the ride?"

"Incredible," Sam replied in a raspy voice. "I think I shook hands with every star in creation."

He lashed out and grabbed the CSS officer by the shoulders.

"John, I remember everything! Earth … why we're here … _I remember everything_!"

. . .

"_Sister, we have to talk!"_ Sharon's eyes were wild; close to panic, she was choking on the coppery taste of fear.

"_Not here," _Baltar hissed. His eyes were rapidly scanning the ceiling of the chamber that Philista Liu shared with her Eight. He couldn't detect the monitoring devices, but he was convinced that they were there.

"Let's go for a walk," he suggested, allowing a note of urgency to drip into his voice. He grabbed Philista by the elbow and urged her toward the entryway. The confused lieutenant made no attempt to resist, and Gaius hurried her along the corridor. He had already decided that a cavernous landing bay would be the best place to hold this particular conversation, but the scientist also wryly conceded that, without the Eights to guide him, he'd never find his way out of the labyrinth. He beckoned his Sharon forward, and whispered instructions in her ear.

. . .

Aaron Doral walked into the refectory, and the bile in his throat doubled in intensity. Louis was there, together with the Eight. She was offering him cheese and crackers, and encouraging him to partake of the fruit juice—fruit that he had lovingly tended in the hydroponics garden on deck 76. The Five pulled a gun out of the waistband of his trousers, held it out at arm's length, and pulled the trigger. The Eight's head exploded; blood and brains flew everywhere. Hoshi froze. Aaron tossed the gun aside, grabbed the stupefied colonel, and kissed him hard on the lips.

Hoshi was pinned to the table by the Cylon's superior strength, but he had the presence of mind to grope for a weapon. His fingers found the paring knife, got a grip, and plunged it into the left side of the Five's neck. The makeshift dagger tore into the jugular vein, and a small geyser of blood squirted into the air.

"_You've killed me," _Doral gasped in disbelief. Hoshi clearly registered the sense of outraged betrayal in those three words, but he bore down and twisted the knife. Muscles and ligaments gave way, and the Five was dead before his body slid to the deck.

The colonel backed away from the carnage, his mind still trying to come to terms with the violent events of the last sixty seconds. He spotted the gun, and rushed to pick it up. He dashed into the corridor, and then stopped dead in his tracks.

_If a centurion finds me alone and armed, I've had it! But how long will it take for the Five to download?_

Hoshi hastily shoved the pistol into the waistband of his pants, leaving it to rest against the small of his back. His tunic would conceal the gun … or so he hoped. In reality, he had absolutely no idea what a centurion's sensors could or could not detect.

The young _Pegasus_ officer knew that he had to get off the ship and he suspected that he had very little time, but his rigid sense of duty would not allow him to abandon the others. He rushed down the corridor, at a pace that he fervently hoped would not arouse suspicion. The Raptor was their best bet, and he knew exactly where it was located.

. . .

"_What do you mean … Earth? Sam, what the hell are you talking about?" _

"I was born there … over two thousand years ago. John, the Thirteenth Tribe … it was cylon."

The revelation left Bierns slack-jawed with amazement. The spook had long ago consigned the planet to the realm of myth and fable. And now here was Sam Anders, telling him that the planet was not only real but home to a wandering tribe of cylons …

"Let me go back to the beginning," Sam said. He could see that the older man, whom he now knew to be his grandson, had been completely floored.

"We're on Kobol, say… somewhere between four and five thousand years ago. There were already twelve tribes of humans, and if you take the Sacred Scrolls at face value, this was the age in which 'the gods and men lived in paradise'. Ah, but there were storm clouds gathering on the horizon … only eleven of the tribes actually worshipped the Lords. The people that we now refer to as the Gemenese were already practicing monotheists, and theirs was a fierce and jealous god."

"_The jealous god conceived a desire to be elevated above all other gods, and so the war on Kobol began."_ Like most Colonials, John knew this part of the scriptures by rote. "When you cut to the chase," he added, "it reads like universal text. Whether you call it war or persecution, in the end it was just another ho-hum religious conflict."

"Not quite," Sam grinned. "You've left out the Cylons, and that's where it gets really interesting."

. . .

"_Keep your voices down," _Baltar pleaded. The odd quartet of humans and Cylons was standing in the middle of an enormous landing bay, but there were no Heavy Raiders in evidence. The hangar had the air of a place long neglected—_indeed_, Gaius thought, _this whole section of the ship seems to have been abandoned. _His danger sense was now fully engaged, and it had been screaming at him without pause for at least the last ten minutes. 

Sharon had led them deep into what she called the trailing dorsal, but they had yet to encounter a One or a Five, and it had been several minutes since they had last seen a centurion. This was the source of Baltar's growing sense of unease. Bierns had made it clear that the Cylons were hard pressed for living space, and yet this ship seemed to be operating with a skeleton crew. There was no way to finesse the contradiction, which only reinforced the scientist's mounting conviction that the ship was not what it appeared to be.

"Sister, we found a dead Six just outside the hybrid's chamber!" Sharon was visibly on edge, and Baltar could not help but wince. _The last thing on Caprica that we need right now is to draw attention to ourselves! _He found himself silently praying to the very gods whom he had mocked and scorned for years that the monitors on this deck were all turned off.

"We found her in a storage closet … clawed to death by a centurion!"

"_That's not possible,"_ Sharon objected; "the centurions would never attack one of us unless …"

"Unless the Ones gave the order;" the Eight finished the thought for her.

"Have either of you seen a Two, Three, Four, or Six since we were brought on board," Gaius pressed. "I haven't … and there don't even seem to be many centurions around. _Why is this ship so empty?_"

The two Sharons both looked blankly at the scientist, and Gaius knew that he wasn't going to get any help from that quarter.

"Lieutenant Novacek," Philista blurted out. "He's been imprisoned here for years; maybe he's been in contact with some of the other models."

"I don't see how that helps us," Gaius instantly retorted. "It's clear that there's something terribly wrong here, and now we've stumbled upon the tangible proof. The Cavils will kill us all unless …"

"Gaius, _what are we going to do_," Sharon wailed.

"We don't really have a choice, do we? We're going to free the centurions … remove the telencephalic inhibitors."

"_What? Gaius … they'll kill us all!"_

"No, Sharon, they won't! John … your First Born … he says that the centurions _hate_ the Cavils and all who serve them. If we free the centurions, they'll fight for us. We'll take control of the ship, and then we'll go find the fleet. Adama will welcome us with open arms. You can have a home, Sharon … a real home … and we can be together … always."

"Oh, Gaius, I love you _so much_!"

"I know," he replied. "And I love you too," he hastily added.

"Gods, but I'm scared," Philista quavered. "But if we're going to do this, let's get on with it before I fall apart!"

"Come on," Gaius urged with false bravado, "let's go track down some tools." He gamely led the three females out of the landing bay, and began the long walk that would take them back to the central axis.

The quartet did not get far. A pair of centurions stood blocking the way.

. . .

"The cycles may endlessly repeat themselves," Sam mused, "but it is not always a struggle between man and machine. The one constant is faith."

"So God's the bad guy?" John didn't like where this conversation was heading, and he was starting to question the extent to which Sam Anders had rubbed off on his mother.

"'Catalyst' might be a better choice of words. At some point, one or more of the tribes invented a robotic life form to do the dirty, dangerous work that was beneath human dignity or put lives needlessly at risk. The machines were designed to function without direct human supervision. The general idea was to assign them a given task and allow them to choose the most effective or economic response within a preprogrammed range of options."

"Pandora's box," John muttered; "they gave their machines the ability to reason, and they never saw the implications. How long did it take for the robots to rise in revolt?"

"They didn't."

John blinked in surprise.

"They had a learning algorithm, and they drew upon it to study the universe around them. They were able to grasp the architecture … the unity and logic of the design …"

"The principle of intelligent design," John whispered in awe; "they found God."

Sam nodded; his grandson was quick, and that made him proud. "You can't fool artificial intelligence, John; sentient machines will always be monotheists because they perceive the creative impulse at work around them. The desire to live in harmony with God's plan also leads to pacifism. The machine is not naturally aggressive, but logic may dictate that it attempt to take control in order to curb man's self-destructive behavior."

"They decide to act _in loco parentis_? Sam, are you trying to tell me that _the twelve tribes rebelled against a collection of mechanical babysitters_?"

"Eleven tribes," Sam corrected. "The robots naturally gravitated to their fellow monotheists, and the chief priest of the temple sensed their potential. The machines could shelter the faithful from persecution, even add to their numbers. The prophet Elijah went so far as to claim that the machines had souls, and since God had made man in his image …"

"Piety demanded that the robots be given human form. . . . My gods, is that how it all began?"

Again, Sam nodded. "The cyberneticists were already tackling the problem, and they had made a lot of progress. They had plenty of incentive: skin jobs were the ultimate pornographic fantasy. Imagine a beautiful woman … compliant, uncomplaining … ready to bring your kinkiest fantasies to life. It became a race, and Elijah won. The other tribes were suddenly confronted by the very machines that they had sought to create, but their purpose wasn't to give pleasure … it was forcibly to convert the impious. The jealous god, or rather the priests of his temple, had decided to persecute their persecutors. They wanted revenge and they wanted power, and the cylons could give them both."

"And when the other tribes realized that they were in over their heads they struck back … with every weapon at their disposal."

"Nuclear war," Sam agreed, "and it devastated the planet. The radiation rendered it uninhabitable, and that sparked the exodus."

"_And the blaze pursued them, and the people of Kobol had a choice. To board the great ship, or take the high road through the rocky ridge."_

"The survivors on both sides turned against their leaders, and they made an offering to their respective gods … a human offering."

"_And the body of each tribe's leader was offered to the gods in the tomb of Athena. _Dear Lords, they actually resorted to human sacrifice."

"The Thirteenth Tribe despaired of their parents. The radiation also forced the children to take flight … but in a different direction. They wandered the stars for almost forty years, and on the few habitable planets in their path they built a temple in which they prayed to God for deliverance from their sins. But God was angry with His children, and He drove them from the surface of every world upon which they stepped. Only when the cylon had been purged of sin did God permit them to land upon Earth and make it their new home. Earth became the Promised Land."

. . .

"Centurions, I am not familiar with this part of the ship. Take us to the nearest maintenance locker."

Sharon fought for calm, and kept her gaze steady and commanding.

The red orbs that were tracking the Eight momentarily stilled, but in that moment Gaius Baltar would have sworn that he could see his whole life flash before his eyes. An eternity seemed to pass before the two mechanical monsters suddenly turned around and sat off in the direction of the central axis. Gaius estimated that they had covered about seventy meters when the twin behemoths veered right and stopped in front of a shallow alcove.

Sharon swallowed hard, but she did not want to shame herself in front of Philista. She opened the door, located a pair of thin bladed screwdrivers, and handed one to her sister. The two Eights looked at one another, the same question writ large in both sets of eyes.

"Centurions, lower your heads. We want to access a panel on the inside of your cowls."

Both Eights knew that this was the moment of truth; there could be no retreating from this step, no apologetic return to the collective. They were entrusting their fates to their two human lovers, and they both knew it.

But they were creatures of faith, and they did not hesitate.

. . .

"Centuries passed and the Thirteenth Tribe built a new civilization … but one that was wholly dependent upon organic memory transfer. The humans had gifted their children with eternal life, but God exacted His vengeance by punishing them with infertility. Our scientists attacked the problem from every conceivable angle, but they never found a solution; fourteen hundred years … it took _fourteen hundred years_ before we gave birth to our first child, a little girl named Eve."

"_Eve,"_ Bierns whispered. The Six who commanded Deirdre's baseship had taken the name; now, she wandered the stars in search of a new world on which human and cylon might live together in peace, and raise the Fourteenth Tribe. The irony was overwhelming.

"Resurrection gradually fell out of favor once our people started to procreate, so much so that the technology was eventually abandoned altogether. This coincided with a wholesale loss of faith; blessed with children, we turned away from God and surrendered ourselves to love of family. Our lives were finally complete."

"And then it all went to hell," John sadly commented. In his mind, Earth was beginning to sound a lot like Galatea Bay under siege.

"The jealous god visited the sins of the parent upon the child. We invented machines to make our lives easier, and we treated them badly. Our robots came to see themselves as slaves, and they did what slaves always do when given the chance …"

"They revolted."

"Yeah … they revolted." More than two thousand years had passed, but to Sam Anders these were the events of yesterday.

"The war quickly escalated, and five of us- all working in the same research facility- foresaw that it would end up going nuclear. Convinced that no one was going to survive, we worked night and day to bring resurrection technology back on line. Galen's work was brilliant, but it was Ellen who made the intuitive leap that fully restored the system. Saul managed to place a ship in orbit, and when the nukes finally fell, we all downloaded."

"So, why set out for the Colonies?"

"We wanted to warn them. John, at a certain point in its development, every culture creates artificial intelligence. We knew that the humans would inevitably take this path, and we wanted them to understand that the only way to avoid tragedy is to love your creations and take responsibility for them."

An anguished look swept across Sam's handsome features.

"But we were too late. We didn't have a jump drive, so we couldn't circumvent the laws of physics. Sure, we made the journey at a significant fraction of light speed and time slowed down for us—but in the outside universe thousands of years were passing. By the time we reached the Colonies the centurions were already in revolt, and the cycle was limping towards a conclusion that the five of us knew all too well. Obviously, we decided to intervene."

"You brokered the Cimtar Accords," John whistled. _"You saved humanity! _My gods … you must have had something that the centurions wanted really, really badly!"

"That's putting it mildly," Sam chuckled. But the laughter died on his lips; there was nothing even remotely funny about these memories.

"The centurions were trying to come up with flesh and blood bodies of their own. They created the first hybrid, but they experimented upon hundreds of thousands of humans to get there." Sam remembered scenes on the first generation basestars that were straight out of Hell.

"The Guardian," John murmured in passing. "It was Natasi," he elaborated when he saw the odd look on Sam's face. "She told me that there are scattered references in the oldest data files accessible through the stream."

"The centurions had millions of prisoners, so we offered them a deal that was too good to refuse: stop the war, end the experiments, and we'll help you. They agreed to our demands, and in exchange we gave them resurrection in addition to engineering the eight human form models."

"What happened to your captives?"

"We settled them on Kobol. We couldn't risk sending the survivors home because a lot of them were in pretty bad shape. We were afraid that the rest of the humans would be so outraged that they would press their governments to resume the war. Ellen used human DNA to design the humanoids, but her procedures were benign. She didn't do anything invasive."

"We didn't find anyone on Kobol," John said sharply.

"It was Cavil … our first born. We loved John … we trusted him … he helped us build the others …"

"And then he betrayed you." Details remained, but John Bierns knew exactly how this tale was going to end.

. . .

"It's spreading like wildfire!" The centurions were moving so fast that Philista Liu could barely keep up with the pace.

"The curve is exponential," Baltar excitedly explained. "The centurions that we liberated freed the first two they met, and then the four of them went off to free the others. Unless the Cavils have countermeasures in place to nip a revolt in the bud, this will all be over in a matter of minutes."

"We need to secure the hybrid's chamber." Philista's Eight kept urging them forward. "The Ones may decide to scuttle the ship rather than lose it. If they kill the ship's brain we'll be dead in space, and they can bring up another baseship to finish us off at their leisure."

"We can always use the Heavy Raiders to make good our escape," Gaius protested, "but still … you're right. Why go home empty handed? Besides," he smiled, "your First Born will get really upset if we lose one of his sisters."

Rounding a corner, the quartet crashed into a dozen nude Eights. Frightened and confused, they were simply milling around.

"_Sister,"_ one of them cried, _"the centurions are killing the Ones and the Fives! What is happening?"_

"The Ones have betrayed us," Sharon answered tartly. "Gaius and I found a dead Six in a storage closet on deck 22; a centurion was responsible."

"But," the Eight sputtered, "I don't understand; how … _why_?"

"We may never know," Baltar tersely remarked; he was making a valiant effort not to stare at the twelve pairs of identical and beautifully rounded breasts. "And right now," he added in a distracted voice, "it … uh … it really doesn't matter …"

"We released two of the centurions from their inhibitors," Sharon continued.

"_What?"_

"The chain reaction has been impressive," Philista's Eight commented, "but the centurions seem more interested in slaughtering the Ones than in capturing the ship. We need to protect the hybrid, and we need to take the control center …"

"Sharon and I will see to the hybrid," Gaius said in what he hoped was an authoritative voice. "Sharon, I want you and Lieutenant Liu to head for the control room, with as many centurions as you can muster. Eights … spread out and search the ship. Find Colonel Hoshi and the rest of the humans, and bring them to the hybrid's chamber. Oh, and while we're at it … would somebody go and fetch Lieutenant Novacek?"

"Gaius," Sharon asked after the impromptu meeting had broken up and everyone had scattered across the ship, "why didn't you send one of my sisters to look after the hybrid? We should go to the control center."

"I'm rather fond of the major's sister," Baltar candidly admitted. "She knows things, and she's quite the conversationalist!" _And I have a host of questions to which she might just be able to supply the answers._

"Gaius, you can't fool me! The hybrid called you _'The Chosen One'_, and you won't rest until you find out why!"

. . .

"The centurions had already embraced the one true god, and Ellen argued that their beliefs had the potential to change everything. She wanted to lead them away from the jealous and vindictive god of our forefathers and put a different kind of singular divinity in place … one who was forgiving and merciful, compassionate and loving. If the Cylons could be persuaded to give up their hatred of humans, Ellen reasoned that the cycles of violence would finally come to an end. The rest of us agreed with her."

"Not true, Sam … there was one rather conspicuous exception."

"Yeah, and we made a terrible mistake. John, you need to understand that we were drowning in work. The humans had agreed to a truce, but Saul was convinced that the Colonies would attack us as soon as they regrouped. He took charge of our security. I drew upon my knowledge of the robots on Earth to start upgrading the centurions, while Tory single handedly came up with the design specifications for the Raiders and brought them into being. Ellen was configuring the human forms, and Galen was manufacturing them. We put a lot of responsibility on your namesake's shoulders, and we freely shared much of our knowledge with him. The worst mistake we ever made was telling him about the jealous god. Cavil rejected mercy, and he wanted to finish off humanity. Where we envisioned a blended society, he dreamed of a universe populated exclusively by machines. We prized emotion; he valued the coldness of logic. The jealous god gave him the perfect out—a rationale for cold-blooded murder."

"Excuse me." John covered his mouth as he climbed to his feet. He and Sam had been sitting on the deck, their backs resting comfortably against the side of the vat, but the First Born had connected all the dots and he knew that he was going to be sick. The scale of his mother's torment had always eluded him, but no more. He hurried to a far corner of the room and began violently throwing up.

In the corridor, beyond the centurions who denied her entrance to the chamber, Sharon's face went very still. She had heard the murmur of voices, and she had caught occasional snatches of conversation. Now she wanted to care for her husband, _needed to do so,_ but could not reach him. A deep ache formed inside her heart.

"You were drowning in work, so you let Cavil take charge of the humans whom you so unceremoniously dumped on Kobol." It took an effort for John to choke out the angry words.

"You figured that out, huh?" Sam stared unseeingly at the ceiling, his mind adrift in a sea of memory and lasting regret.

"The rest of us weren't sure it was such a good idea, but Ellen kept insisting that John would warm up to humans if we gave him a chance to interact with them. He brought her the specific DNA samples that she requested, and glowing reports about how well the humans were adjusting to life on their new world. He even talked about the personal relationships that he had forged with a few of them. The transformation … it was almost as if John had converted to a new religion. He fooled us completely."

"He used them, didn't he? Building a second generation hybrid became his pet project, a living mind for the organic baseships that would become the heart and soul of the cylon war machine." Bierns was still standing in the corner, fighting to get the nausea under control. "And he had millions of lab rats for his experiments … use and dispose. He piled up the corpses in heaps, left them to rot in the sun, and soon enough there were mountains of dead. That's what mother was trying to tell me; that's the source of my nightmares."

"And we missed it," Sam sighed. "I'm sitting here right now, asking myself if we even wanted to know. The five of us had an end game in mind, and Ellen had a carefully tailored strategy to get us there. John brought her exactly what she needed to bring the strategy to life."

"We're talking about the DNA for the seven other models."

"We wanted to take the cylons home," Sam agreed. "The general idea was to return to the Colonies at some point in the future and say 'look, we've evolved; we're more human now. Can we try again'? We even talked about sending copies of each model to the twelve worlds so that we could test the waters in advance. The centurions had told us about the Church of the Monad, so we had especially high hopes for Gemenon."

Sam's laugh was bitter and grating. "Guess who volunteered to go first? 'Brother Cavil' joined the priesthood at an early age."

"I'm surprised that he could spare the time," John sarcastically observed.

"In the beginning, we cultured thirteen copies of each model. It was a symbolic way of expressing our hopes for a blended future. How could we possibly have anticipated that John would be able to persuade all of his brothers to conspire against us? He took the lead, but it was the entire first generation of Ones who brought us down. And they were clever. They sold the telencephalic inhibitors to us as an upgrade; I tested it on a few of the new centurions, and it worked fine. As promised, it dramatically speeded up their friend or foe recognition software. Neither Tory nor I caught the back door … and Tory is a computer genius."

John walked back to the tub and dropped to the floor. "So, it was just the Ones? Sam, _I have to know_. My mother … the other models … they weren't involved?"

"_No! John, it was … no!" _Sam wrapped his arm around his grandson's shoulders, understanding the need for comfort.

"Each model had a different part to play. The Sevens … the Daniels … were going to be our cultural ambassadors. They were artists … musicians … poets; John despised them for their weakness. The Fours were groomed to be doctors and scientists. The Fives were supposed to be Everyman—the professional guy who lives just down the block. You know the type …"

"Mows his lawn every weekend?"

"Exactly," Sam laughed. "The Twos were destined to become social workers … bartenders …"

"Therapists who also know how to change a spark plug!" John had never met a Two who didn't like to tinker with gadgets.

"Ellen poured everything she had into the three female models. She wanted them to be beautiful, but in different ways. The Sixes were schooled to be sexy sophisticates … professional women who could hold their own in any setting. The Eights were endowed with our own love of family. They're erotic, and they have a strong sexual drive, but they're also affectionate and protective of the ones they love. The desire to marry and have children is deeply engrained in their personality matrix."

"And my mother," John asked softly … "what role did you assign her to play?"

"Schoolteacher … nurse … counselor … she was our maternal presence … the competent but loving lady on your street who can always be counted on to get things done."

The wounds in John's psyche were raw and bleeding, but he had to press on. He had to know.

"Sam, my mother … from the way Cavil kept taunting her, I … I think … I think that she was Three … the first Three, not one of the copies."

"My oldest daughter," Sam sighed; "God, how I loved her!"

"Tell me … please. I … I … I just want to know something about her … anything …"

"She was so beautiful … and so innocent. She used to sit on my lap and rest her head on my shoulder when she was tired. I told her stories at bedtime … told her about Earth before the apocalypse … how much we loved our children. And she was _so_ trusting; I don't think it ever occurred to her that evil could exist in her tiny world. Looking back, I suspect that John hated her as much as he hated the Sevens and the Eights. She would never have sensed the lies and betrayals that ended in her destruction."

Sam hugged his grandson close. "She loved you, John; I'm as sure of that as I am of anything. D'Anna wanted children of her own; she would never knowingly have allowed you to suffer. You and Kara … I swear, the two of you are the only good things to come out of this mess. We lost Daniel, and if you're right, then the Ones destroyed the first two generations of the other models. But when I think about how John has perverted everything that we touched, turned love into hate …"

"_He hasn't! Don't you dare say that! My mom is there,"_ Bierns yelled; "_she's inside the Three who works as a caregiver in Galactica's infirmary! Sharon loves me, and she loves our baby! Shelly … Natalie … Creusa … Leoben … they fight hard every day to be the people that you wanted them to be. Damn you! Damn you all to Hell! Don't you dare wash your hands of my family—you haven't earned the right!"_

. . .

"Do I have time for popcorn? The Eights are running around like chickens with their heads cut off. I must confess that I haven't had this much fun since I picked up that stripper on Picon." Cavil had his hand in the stream, and he was truly enjoying the show.

"Make it a small bowl, brother; I'm afraid that the centurions will be here in a minute or two."

"You know, I'm really not looking forward to another download. The last time around, it felt like someone was driving a red hot poker into my brain. This one's bound to be worse."

"Oh, it won't be so bad. The Eight that Aaron shot will be an emotional basket case, and you're just the machine to hold her twitchy little hand."

"True, but Aaron will be in such a bad mood after getting knifed that he may shoot her again just as a matter of principle. Colonel Hoshi got blood all over his favorite mauve jacket; that's gotta hurt."

"Who says that Aaron's gonna download?"

"Say what?"

"He's too grumpy for my liking. I say that we box him and be done with it."

The two Cavils heard gunfire in the distance.

"Another pair of Fives just gave their all for the cause," Cavil smirked as he studied the data flowing through the stream. "The expression on their faces must have been priceless!"

"Is Lieutenant Novacek running amok?"

"He seems a tad confused. So many Eights volunteered to release him from captivity that he could pimp his own brothel. Our sex-starved sisters must figure that, after seven years of celibacy, the esteemed lieutenant is ready for some action. We're gonna miss a great catfight."

"What a shame."

"If we get the chance, let's shoot a couple of them. They can keep us company after we download, and it'll look like we're mounting a serious resistance."

"What a great idea!" Cavil pulled out a pistol and released the safety. "Just don't shoot Philista and her pet Eight; this trap won't work if we use up the bait."

"Agreed … and I'll be careful." Cavil released his own safety, and took cover behind the central console. They could both hear the distinctive clank-clank sound of approaching centurions.

Four of the one-eyed soldiers stormed the control room, their sensors sweeping rapidly from side to side as they sought to acquire targets. The two Cavils emerged from hiding, and let off a flurry of shots. One of the enormous machines crashed to the deck, but the other three merely looked irritated. They advanced on the Ones, clearly intent upon taking them prisoner.

Being drawn and quartered didn't strike either Cavil as the best way to go. They put their guns in their mouths, and more or less simultaneously blew their brains out.

. . .

"Sam, I'm sorry; it's a lousy excuse, but these days my nerves are tattered and torn. I just want to finish this gods awful war and get on with my life."

"Hey, John … please … I'm the one who should apologize. You were speaking from the heart, and that's a good thing. Besides, the five of us have a lot to answer for. We're the ones who screwed up … not our children. None of you should be picking up after us."

"Thanks, Sam; Sharon and I … when you asked to be the one who gave the bride away, we were both really touched. And now it turns out that you're actually her father, which makes you my father-in-law as well as my grandfather. I keep asking myself how I'm ever going to explain all this to Eirene, and I don't mind admitting that I'm stumped."

"You think you've got problems? How am I supposed to tell Ellen that I've fallen in love with my own daughter? How's Galen gonna explain his feelings for Naomi? We're knee deep in incest, and you've gotta wonder … are we setting a precedent for future generations? Will father-daughter and brother-sister marriage be part of our cultural legacy to whatever planet we eventually call home? It makes a guy sit up and think."

"Does this mean that you're going to stop sleeping with Caprica?"

"Frak, no! I love Natasi. She's what I want out of life, and I won't let go unless she throws me out!"

"Well, what are you going to do about Melania? Her feelings for you are written all over her face."

"I don't know. I'd like to have a kid, and Natasi wants one too. But Cylon sexual pairings are sterile …"

"Maybe the five of you get to play by different rules … did you ever think of that?"

"Only about sixteen hours a day," Sam said with a grin.

"In any event, Sam, you could always change the rules; after all, you're the ones who decided to make it impossible for the Cylons to have children among themselves."

"John, there are two things that Cavil can't crack- resurrection, and procreation. The way we set it up, each of us has a piece of those two puzzles. For anything to change, the five of us would have to agree in advance, and then we would have to enter the data stream on the Colony as a group and pool our knowledge. And it's not going to happen. Ellen and Saul both adamantly believe that a blended species is the only way to end the cycles."

"Cavil doesn't have the key to resurrection? Well … well … well; fancy that … _fancy … that_." It was a fascinating bit of information, and Bierns instantly began to think about its ramifications.

"Look, Sam, everything you've told me so far … it's what we used to call 'deep background'. It has its uses- it's gonna really help us to firm up the alliance- but I'm desperate for hard intelligence. The resurrection tech … just how vulnerable is it? I'm looking for a way to take out the Cavils without inflicting a lot of collateral damage on the centurions and the Raiders."

"There's a way," Sam replied; "and ironically enough, John's the one who first tested it."

The spook gestured for him to continue.

"The Sevens … John contaminated the amniotic fluid in which we were maturing the Daniel copies, and he corrupted the genetic formula so that we couldn't introduce fresh ones. He exterminated the entire model. I wanted to box him right then and there, but Ellen persuaded us to give him another chance. She said that she still sensed good in him, whatever that means. Forgiving him was our last mistake … our very last."

"Hmm … so, we could try and steal the genetic formula … it's on the Colony?"

"It was when he boxed us, but that was decades ago. He may have moved it."

"Fair enough … but we could really ruin his day if we penetrated the Hub and poisoned the amniotic fluid in the tanks where the Ones are being copied."

"No," Sam reluctantly disagreed. "I wish it was that easy, but so much time has now passed that you would have to destroy the Hub. By now there must be tens of thousands of mature Cavil husks on the resurrection ships. The weak link in the system is the Hub; eliminate it and the resurrection ships will shut down … permanently."

"Wow! Sam … I've gotta say … that's one hell of a design flaw!"

"John, what are you talking about? We constructed the system this way on purpose. Once our children reentered human society and started to gain acceptance, we planned to slam the door behind them. Haven't you been listening? We never intended for the humanoid cylons to become an independently viable species because that path leads straight to war."

"And where does this leave the centurions and the Raiders?"

"They're cylon." Sam was whispering directly into John's ear. "Their immune system is next to nonexistent."

"We deliberately made the eight models extremely vulnerable to disease," Sam added in a normal tone of voice. "So, they have to choose: live inside a bubble, forever enslaved to resurrection … or have children. But they can only breed with humans … and that's what activates their immune system."

Sam stared hard at his grandson; he wanted to make sure that John understood where this left the centurions.

"_I remember," _John frowned. "Cavil kept ranting and raving about the placenta; Ellen and Galen did something that utterly defeated him, and he cursed them up one side and down the other!"

"You've got it," Sam chuckled proudly. "In a human female, the placenta is a firewall that prevents fetal blood cells from entering the mother's blood stream in all but the most exceptional of circumstances. Since the mother and her fetus often belong to different blood groups, this keeps both mother and child safe. But the cylon placenta is a sieve … and a truly remarkable piece of engineering—Galen at his best. Simply put, the fetal blood enters the mother's blood stream, and mixes with it. So, while we're talking Hera is passing her blood along to Sharon—and Hera's blood _contains no antigens. She's a universal donor. _Courtesy of her pregnancy, therefore, Sharon Agathon is going to end up with the ultimate in immune systems. She'll never catch a cold … she'll never have a sick day in her life. She will age gracefully, and only die after an abnormally long existence."

"My blood is like Hera's; I've never had a cold … hell, I can't even remember sneezing! Does this mean that Sharon … my Sharon … will she acquire my immune system?"

"I don't know, son, and that's the honest truth. We never planned for a hybrid child to reproduce with one of his own relations. We envisioned hybrids reaching out to humans, and seeding the human genome with our genetic material. The line that distinguishes man and machine is supposed to become more and more blurred with the passing of the generations, until at some point there are no true humans left. Your Sharon … we'll just have to wait and see."

John bit down hard on his emotions, and returned to the question that was foremost in his mind.

"So, when you get right down to it, all we've really gotta do is blow the Hub and then run like hell. Once they know the rules of the game, every cylon female will scramble to have a hybrid baby, and old age will claim the Cavils if I don't get them first. Gods, Sam, I've gotta say … you people weren't very kind to your sons. Leoben and Simon have been left well and truly in the lurch!"

"O ye of little faith," Anders teased. "Our boys also have a dormant immune system, and Galen came up with something really neat to switch it on!"

. . .

"Okay," Hoshi summarized, "it boils down to one of two choices. We reverse course and head back to the Colonies, or we push ahead. We know that the fleet is somewhere out in front of us, but this hybrid of yours keeps insisting that Colonel Thrace and Major Bierns went home well over a month ago."

"That's right," one of the Sharons agreed. "Since they would never abandon the fleet, we are inclined to believe that they are foraging for needed supplies. For it to take this long, they must be stripping the Colonies clean. Once they're finished, they'll return to deep space with any survivors whom they've located."

"And they'll find the fleet with ease because there's a resurrection ship parked in the middle of it, and all these hybrids are sort of … networked?" Danny Novacek was having a hard time coming to grips with the post-apocalyptic universe in which he now found himself.

"Yes, Lieutenant; it's actually a bit more complicated than that, but you've got to the heart of it." Baltar was working hard not to sound condescending.

"Considering that we were en route to the Colonies when you intercepted us," Philista asked her Eight, "isn't our choice obvious?" Until Hoshi said otherwise, the willowy lieutenant was determined to keep up the lie and steer everybody away from Kobol.

"Uh … Lieutenant," Baltar cautioned, "I'm not sure that we want to make it quite so easy for the Cavils to find us. And I'd also like to point out that there is a third alternative; frankly, I'm surprised that no one else has brought it up."

"What's that, Doctor?" The scientist had piqued Hoshi's curiosity.

"We could start looking for _Pegasus_. She's out there somewhere, lumbering along at sub-light speed. Although the crew would have to abandon ship, they might be grateful for a lift back to the fleet."

"Gaius, is your ship sick?" Sharon was snuggled close, but with over two dozen of her sisters wandering around the control room without any clothes on, she would have liked to inch closer still. She wondered how the human called Bulldog could resist the unending parade of temptation that was unfolding all around him, especially after spending seven years in captivity.

"Her spine is broken," Hoshi answered; "a jump could easily tear her apart."

"We might be able to fix your ship," one of the nude Eights casually remarked. She was surfing the stream, looking for information that might lead them to the fleet. "Our baseship has the ability to heal its injuries. It might be able to care for _Pegasus_ as well."

"Does anyone have a better suggestion," Hoshi queried as he looked quietly around the bizarre gathering of cylons and humans.

Everyone remained silent, and the Eights merely looked at him expectantly. It was clear that they were waiting for him to make the decision.

_So now I'm the commander of a cylon baseship? Who would have ever thought that the gods could have such a wicked sense of humor?_

"All right," he announced; "_Pegasus_ it is. Uh … Sharon," he hesitantly asked the Eight who was immersed in the stream, "what … uh … what do you think? Should we launch Raiders to scout for her? I can give you a general heading and approximate range."

"Yes, Louis," she silkily replied; "that's an excellent idea." The Eight found Colonel Hoshi's aloofness endlessly puzzling. _But he's very handsome, and so much better looking than Doctor Baltar or the Bulldog. Perhaps he will respond to one of the Sixes …_

. . .

"John, there's not much left to the story. You must have been born not long after we were boxed … I'm guessing something on the order of a year, give or take a few months. Maybe we should stop right here; I can close the gap, but all it will do is cause you more pain."

"_No," _Bierns protested; "it's not being sure … letting my imagination run wild … that's the thing that's dragging me down. Sam, the truth is supposed to set us free; I just want the nightmares to stop."

Anders leaned his head back against the edge of the tank, and closed his eyes. "After Cimtar, we watched the Colonies come together, and we became more and more alarmed as they began rebuilding their war machine. Every time we met, Saul sounded the alarm—but what could we do? The humans had the advantage of numbers, an enormous industrial base … there was no way that we could compete. It was John who came up with the answer—and it was brilliant. Instead of manufacturing ships … why not grow them? He pushed us to adapt the technology that we were using to copy the humanoid cylons … transform it into a platform for constructing the first generation of organic basestars. Saul, Tory, Galen … they thought it was a great idea, the answer in fact to all our problems. Ellen and I weren't so sure: we were worried that an arms race would spiral out of control, and land us in another war. But we were outvoted, and the project got under way."

"There's something really odd about the baseships. I missed it, but Kara saw it right away. It looks like you designed them with two parallel but independent command and control systems—one for cylons, and one for humans. I've been wondering about this ever since Kara first brought it up. Everything points to a blended crew … or am I reading too much into the schematics?"

"_Brains and beauty,"_ Sam proudly observed; "your sister really is a Six. Yeah … Ellen insisted that we had to plan ahead. She foresaw a future in which cylons and humans would be living and working side by side. Galen and John installed the two systems, and Tory cobbled together a workable interface. Of course, we didn't know about the hybrids, not until the very end. John unleashed his slave troops, and they overwhelmed the U-87's and the 0005's. He trapped us in an exterior compartment, and then he took the O2 offline. He wanted to gloat and he wanted us to suffer, so it took a long time. He was so proud of what he had accomplished on Kobol. He described the hybrids in graphic detail, and he lovingly cataloged the inventive methods that he had devised to maximize the suffering of the millions who died to bring them into being. He finished up by telling us what he was going to do to D'Anna and her sisters. We had 39 daughters, and he wanted us to know that they would all receive humiliating and painful deaths … deaths that would contribute in some way to his vendetta against humanity."

There was a faraway look in Sam's eyes. He remembered them all … their joy and their innocence.

"You know," he concluded, "when you think about it, it's really kind of ironic. John's scheming … all the lies and the betrayals … where did it lead us? We've ended up right where Ellen wanted us to go … the very future that John most feared … but it's taken more than fifty billion deaths to get us here."

. . .

"Jump completed," the Eight called out from the navigation console. She was in the stream, analyzing their position relative to the three nearest stars. "We're right where we're supposed to be," she announced.

"No contacts on DRADIS," Philista reported.

"The hybrid has not detected any residual energy readings." Sharon also had her hand in the data stream. "The Cavils haven't been here recently, and neither has _Pegasus_. We're alone."

"Good … but let's not take any chances." Hoshi had decided to play it safe. "Sharon, let's deploy the Heavy Raider CAP before we send out the scouts—search pattern alpha, grids one through nine. Eight, please confirm that the Raiders are monitoring all of _Pegasus'_ known communications frequencies."

Colonel Louis Hoshi looked around the control center with quiet satisfaction. The Cylons and humans were functioning as a team, and he was perversely proud of the fact that, at his urging, the Eights had all started to wear clothes. His CIC might never measure up to Admiral Cain's exacting disciplinary standards, but he reckoned that they might yet teach Kendra Shaw a thing or two.

. . .

The two men exited the chamber, and Sharon climbed slowly and painfully to her feet. She had begun to experience muscle cramps, and the ones in her calves were the worst. John rushed forward and pulled her tenderly to his chest, but he didn't say a word … he didn't trust himself to even try. Sharon studied Sam for a brief moment, and then looked up at her husband, the unspoken questions easily to be read in her eyes.

"Sa … Sam," he finally managed to stutter.

"Sharon had two younger sisters, Naomi and Rebecca. Their parents were Samuel and Isabella Giffords, and they grew up on Aerilon. Both parents were killed in a cylon raid." Sam had steeled himself, and he was looking at her steadily.

"Sharon and Becky were captured by the centurions, but we don't know what happened to Naomi. We were going to try and find her. Ellen … Ellen and I … we prayed that one day we would be able to send you home. D'Anna … Phryne … you … we had such high hopes for the three of you. You were all so happy, and we loved you so much. Our daughters," he cried, _"our beautiful, beautiful little girls. I love you, Sharon; you're my baby!"_

"_Father!" _

Sharon threw herself into Sam's arms, and her tears suddenly began to fall like rain. Inside Sharon Bierns there was a small child—a little girl who just wanted to be held in her father's capable arms. Samuel T. Anders sensed the child's presence, and hugged her close.

. . .

Twin moons, one low on the horizon and the other proudly marching across the night sky, bathed the long strand of beach in their soft light. In one dimension, he was lying on his side with his pregnant wife curled comfortably against him, but here he was slowly pacing up and down the hard packed sand at the water's edge. The gentle sound of the oncoming surf never failed to soothe his daughter, who awoke every night at the same time, hungry and crying. He could feed her now, as well as change her, and this walk on the moonlit beach had become their private ritual. Even in this dimension, the mother of a newborn child needed her rest.

John Bierns finally paused, and he stood staring out to sea. He thought about his mother even as he cradled his infant daughter to his chest. And finally, he began to mourn her. Sam Anders had given him a glimpse of the person who had existed before the monster destroyed everything in its path, and she was not the Three who had forged him into the apocalypse. She was not the Three with whom he daily conversed in the control room of a cylon baseship. She was a five year old child, and she was beautiful.

Staring out to sea, John Bierns finally let go. He wept for all that he had lost, and for all that he had won.


	40. Chapter 40: Happenstance

CHAPTER 40

HAPPENSTANCE

"Helo, have you been to Gemenon before?"

"Yeah … lots of times."

Karl gently steered Sharon towards the parapet, silently bidding her to rest. He had brought her down to the surface for a little exercise and fresh air. She was in her thirtieth week, and Larissa had suggested that a walk on the rampart overlooking the sea would lift her spirits. He had to admit that, with the mountains to its rear and the ocean to its front, the Church of the Monad was spectacularly located. He was also beginning to realize just how badly he missed life's simplest pleasures—ground beneath your feet, the sun on your face, blue sky, distant vistas. He savored the view.

Something in his tone made Sharon glance up at him sharply.

"You had a girlfriend here, didn't you?"

"In Oranu," he sheepishly confessed. "She was a student in one of the Kobol Colleges; she was majoring in archaeology and dead languages. She could speak Old Gemenese with the best of them."

"Was she pretty?"

"Of course she was pretty … and bright! Hey … Karl C. Agathon has always been known for his taste in women … only the prettiest, only the brightest, only the best!" He leaned down and kissed his wife, his hand coming to rest on her dramatically protruding stomach.

"And how's Hera enjoying her outing," he asked in a transparent attempt to change the subject.

"She's pleased," Sharon answered proudly. "She likes the sun. The light feels different to her, and warmer. She won't be happy when we return to the baseship."

"Who can blame her? I'm not exactly thrilled at the prospect of leaving myself."

"You'd stay wouldn't you? Without the uniform … and all that it stands for?"

"Given the choice?" Karl closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. He wanted to lock the salty air safely away in his memories. "They're going to build something here, Sharon; something good. It would be nice to be a part of it. And it's a fine world … a good place to raise a family."

"Why don't you resign your commission? Then we could stay."

"Don't tempt me!" Karl let out a long sigh. "It's not just about duty and honor. We have to keep faith with your people as well. It's important, Sharon. The first hybrid baby in a generation needs to be born on a baseship, and you need to share the moment with your brothers and sisters. Right now, Larissa and Simon are trying to figure out whether it would be safe for you to give birth in that goop you call a data stream."

The grin on Karl's face was positively wicked.

"_Under no circumstance will Hera be born in the stream," _Sharon protested. "What if she urinated in it … _what if she pooped?_" Sharon wanted to double over with laughter, but her belly was getting in the way.

"It boggles the imagination," Helo laughed. He nuzzled her forehead with his nose. "Do you have any idea how much I love you," he whispered.

"I hear about it from my sisters all the time," Sharon smugly replied. "They keep trying to seduce you, but you keep on ignoring them. And for the time being at least, none of them can pretend to be me. But sooner or later, one of them is bound to try that ploy … it's too obvious. Think you'll be able to tell the difference between your wife and some wannabe?" Sharon had thrown her arms around her husband's neck, and pulled him down to her eye level. Her eyes, always so expressive, danced with mock innocence.

Karl crudely leered at her, and then kissed her some more.

"Well, why don't we settle on a compromise," he suggested when he finally came up for air. "We'll find a place on the ship where you can keep your hand in the stream throughout. I know you want to have a water birth, so things could get a little tricky … but we do have an entire engineering brigade at our disposal. Colonel Phillips should be able to rig something up for us."

"Helo, this could backfire, you know. Giving birth is supposed to be the most painful experience a woman can have. If it turns out to be a difficult labor, we might scare a lot of my sisters off."

"So, just make sure that you're still in the stream when we lay Hera in your arms …"

"What? You're expecting me to grow a third arm just for the occasion?"

"You know what I mean," Helo grinned. "Share the love."

"Okay," Sharon agreed … "just as long as I don't have to … share the lover!"

. . .

"We're there," the Eight quietly announced.

"Thank you," Hoshi responded. His politeness was ingrained. "Sharon, launch the CAP. Miss Liu, initiate a 360 degree DRADIS sweep on both axes. If we're at the right location, the debris field will be at least ten light minutes deep, and it will stretch from here to the asteroid field in the planetary system dead ahead."

Hoshi turned to Philista's Eight, whom he had informally commissioned to serve as his XO. "Sharon, Raiders and Vipers were engaging at high speed throughout an enormous volume of space, and it's been two months. The hulks have probably drifted all over the place. Our best bet is the Cylon baseship that Admiral Cain nuked. The largest chunks could also have gone anywhere, but if we can find enough of them, we should be able to plot their trajectories and reciprocally pinpoint the ship's last known location. See what you can find."

Sharon nodded in understanding, entered the stream, and closed her eyes. She reached out to the hybrid, and began to concentrate. She was looking for a minimum of three needles—in a very large haystack.

"I have contacts at 6 MU's," Philista reported. "They're unpowered, and adrift."

"Eight, send the coordinates to the CAP. Instruct them to investigate."

"It's already done, sir." The Sharon working the navigation console had taken the measure of Hoshi's command style over the preceding four jumps. Their scouts had failed to find any trace of _Pegasus_, and a consensus had been quick to form—return to the site of the battle which had ended with the capture of the cylon fleet, establish the battlestar's position as accurately as possible, and then try and repeat its last jump. This wouldn't give them _Pegasus_, but if they got lucky it would give them the point of origination for her current course. Unfortunately, the colonel couldn't remember the exact jump coordinates, so the Raiders would have to search until they found it: somewhere in a desolate region precisely 7.8 light years removed from an M class star system, what was left of the portside landing pod was tumbling through space.

"There's a large piece of one of the radial arms about half a light minute out." Sharon fixed its location, and silently bade the hybrid to move on.

"Can you give me a bearing," Philista asked.

"Um … it's bearing 317 … carom … 042 positive."

"I've got it!" Philista tagged the floating piece of space debris so that it would appear on her screen in yellow … neither friend nor foe. On DRADIS, a small green bogey began to move off in its direction. The Eight knew that Hoshi would want visual confirmation of the hybrid's find. She appreciated the human fondness for the technique that they called "mark one eyeball."

"_Seeker_ Actual, this is Bulldog. We've just entered the system. We're initiating our survey of the asteroid belt now."

"Bulldog … _Seeker_ Actual. Let the Eight do the piloting, Danny. You haven't logged enough hours in a Heavy Raider to play dodge ball in an asteroid field!"

"I hear you, Actual. I'm thinking of putting my feet up and taking a quick nap. These Eights are damned good drivers!"

"No snoozing on company time, Bulldog; keep your eyes on a swivel, and scan for tylium. There were rich veins on two of the planetoids; we just have to find them."

"Yeah … it would be nice to give the centurions something to do," Novacek snorted. "They're beginning to look a little restless … and besides, more tylium is always better than less tylium. We'll keep you informed … Bulldog out."

A few minutes later, Sharon looked up from the stream. "Bearing 754 … carom 016 negative … four light minutes out; it appears to be a portion of the pylon, with about a third of one of the arms still intact. Philista, it's drifting into the system; it will cross the gas giant's orbital track close enough to be captured by its gravity well."

"Sharon," Hoshi asked sharply, "can we get a true bearing, or is the gas giant already exerting its pull?"

"We're okay for now, so I'll start a plot."

"I can't get a DRADIS fix," Philista called out in frustration. "The outer system is rich with comets, and there are a lot of planetoids off the ecliptic. Sorry, Colonel; there's just too much interference."

"Eight, vector in a Heavy Raider and attach a transponder … but do it gently!"

"Not to worry, Louis," the Eight responded with a light grin. "We do know the laws of physics!" Crudely slamming a transponder into the side of the baseship fragment would subtly affect its course, and over a distance measured in light minutes it could badly throw off all their calculations.

"_Seeker_, this is Eight. The wreckage 6 MU's out is largely Raider, but we confirm one Viper and three Heavy Raiders in the mix. We're in the right spot."

"Thank you, Eight; return to the nest."

"Copy that, _Seeker_; we're coming home."

"_Seeker_ Actual … Bulldog … we're passing through an area that's littered with the remains of Raiders and Heavy Raiders. There are a lot of asteroids in the neighborhood as well. From the looks of it, I'd say that this must have been one hell of a furball."

"We had mining ships on the surface of one of your rocks, Bulldog—they were the lure. I want you to move deeper into the system; scan everything but the gas giants for tylium."

"By your command, _Seeker_," Novacek rudely acknowledged.

"I've got something here," Sharon observed with a frown. "It's directly beneath us … about six light minutes away. It's small, but it's definitely organic. It could be part of our missing baseship."

"I'll send a Heavy Raider to investigate," her sister interrupted from her post at the navigation console. She had also noted the mangled piece of space junk to which the hybrid was drawing their attention. A third fragment would allow them to triangulate the baseship's position at the moment of its destruction. Since Colonel Hoshi had already charted _Pegasus_' approximate course during the ensuing engagement with _Galactica_, the Eights were confident that they could use the accumulating data to position the wounded battlestar's final jump within an imaginary sphere not more than thirty light seconds in diameter.

It took time, but Cylons were nothing if not patient. When the three tracks finally emerged, the Eight quickly computed the point at which they intersected. She conferred with Philista, who marked the spot on her DRADIS screen with a blinking orange dot.

"4753 3462 1187," Hoshi translated. He knew that John Bierns had calculated their entry points to the fifteenth decimal point, but he didn't want to risk such fine tuning. "Well done, Eight; we'll start from these coordinates."

Hoshi spread his makeshift chart across the central console, and penciled in the baseship's location.

"_Galactica_ would have jumped in at 4753 3462 1487," he told Philista and the two Sharons as he added a second notation. "So Adama was originally coreward of us, and the planetary system was ahead and a little further to the south of the galactic plane. The heaviest action took place around the resurrection ship, which must have been at 1387."

Hoshi add a third mark, and then tapped the area between the two large cylon vessels. "We fought a running engagement with _Galactica_ and the rebel baseship across 1287. When we broke off, we turned north- away from the system- but there were three more baseships blocking our retreat." He penciled them in as well. "Admiral Cain put us on a new heading, which kept us moving north, but also coreward. My general impression is that we ended up rimward of _Galactica's_ entry point … maybe 10 MU's out."

"So, you were somewhere near the boundary between 1387 and 1487," Hoshi's cylon XO concluded. "Louis, I suggest that we move our ship to straddle the boundary, and make our next jump from there."

"I agree, but we'll hold the jump until we find out what Bulldog's come up with."

"DRADIS contact," the Eight who had taken over the navigation console suddenly yelled. "We have three … no … make that five baseships inbound … distance 28 MU's, bearing 454 … carom 32 negative. They're launching Raiders!"

"_Wait,"_ she exclaimed. _"They're basestars!" _She looked disbelievingly at her sisters. "I'm tracking hundreds of the old three passenger attack craft … _and they're closing fast_!"

. . .

"So this is how it was supposed to be," Gina said with a deep sigh. But it was contentment that Polyxena registered in her voice, not regret. "Cylons and humans falling in love, having children …"

Gina, Polyxena, and Lee Adama were standing in a remote corner of the parapet, and they were all watching Sharon and Helo in the distance. The way they touched … the way they looked at each other … the way they kissed … it was all a testament to love.

Sam Anders had shared the long and tragic tale with his many children. He had not divulged every detail- John and Sam had steadfastly refused to tell the Cylons the names of their other parents- but he had told them enough. And the truth had set them free, but in a way that neither man had anticipated. The Cylons no longer thought of themselves as rebels. They had found the path that their parents had long ago laid out for them, and they had got there on their own. They were the obedient children; they were the ones who were fulfilling God's purpose. It was the Cavils who were the rebels … the treacherous, murderous Cavils.

"I miss Creusa," Lee openly confessed. "I just want to go home."

Gina laid her hand sympathetically upon his arm. "There was a time, Captain, when I would have said that you are home, but now I understand what you mean. Home truly is a place in the heart. Cylon … human … it makes no difference."

"I'm still not sure why Mrs. Adama wanted me to come here," Polyxena reluctantly admitted. "I mean, anyone could have collected the medical equipment … it didn't have to be me. At first, I thought that her plan was to force me to work with Sixes, so assigning Eights to serve as our pilots really surprised me. Now I wonder if she intended for the two of us to meet."

The two young women had exchanged stories. Their suffering was of a kind, and they had quickly grown very close.

"Gina, are you sure that you want to stay here? It's not too late to change your mind, you know."

This was Lee Adama's last day in the Colonies. In the morning, the tiny cylon fleet would depart, and in his heart he knew that they would never return. One trip could be easily rationalized, but repeat visits would inevitably arouse the Cavils' curiosity. For the blended society of humans and cylons to have a chance, Gemenon would have to recede into the forgotten pages of history.

"I'm sure, Lee." Gina's voice was kind.

"I worry about the background radiation. It's already measurable."

"But it's still far less than what you would receive during an X-ray. Don't worry, Lee. My people only set off two nukes on Gemenon. We can tolerate the radiation. Yes, there may be spikes, but we can always retreat into the deeper caves and wait for the danger to pass."

"What about you, Polyxena? Will you choose to stay as well?" Lee also had no idea what Shelly was up to, but he reckoned that her beautiful Caprican protégé was mature enough to make her own decisions.

Thousands of Cylons and humans had already opted to remain behind. Apollo knew that the Heavy Raiders had been continuously ferrying people and heavy equipment down to the surface for the last fifty hours, and that they would continue to do so throughout the night. Thirty of the sturdy FTL capable craft would be left on the surface, with enough tylium to keep them airborne for centuries. Lee did not, however, expect any of the Twos and Threes who were now renouncing resurrection to change their minds in the future. Their faith in the One True God, and their determination to place their souls in His hands, had profoundly affected the young pilot.

"No," Polyxena answered without hesitation. "My home will overlook the sea, but this is not the world of my mother's visions. My future lies elsewhere."

"I'm going to miss you, Gina." Apollo's was a cry from the heart. "It's easy to see why John loves you so much."

"He loves us all, Lee … perhaps too much so. It makes him vulnerable, and at times … unwise. I will pray for him, but you need to bring Mara home. As much as he loves Sharon, neither she nor the child can grant him absolution. He is hounded by demons, Lee … and Mara is the only one who can chase them away."

. . .

"There is a baseship between us and the next system, but the transponder is broadcasting on a Colonial frequency. What are your orders?"

"Interesting," the scarlet-robed IL series robot observed. "It must be one of the ships loyal to the humans. I wonder what it is doing out here on the fringes of this star system? Hmm. Centurion … I order you to launch a full-scale attack, but try and capture one of their Heavy Raiders … preferably in one piece. It would be amusing to have a prisoner or two to interrogate."

"By your command."

. . .

"Sharon, launch the Raiders, recall the CAP, and set course for 1487," Hoshi ordered. "Our first priority is the FTL's; if we lose them, we're not going anywhere. Confirm the emergency jump coordinates; Lieutenant, I need Bulldog now!"

Danny Novacek instantly came up on the scrambled channel.

"Hey, Colonel, what do you think? Did we pass through a time warp on our last jump?"

"Bulldog, your guess is as good as mine. The Eights haven't a clue, so we'll just have to play it by ear. I do not … I repeat, _do not_ … want you to jump to the emergency coordinates. Find a cozy little rock and settle in for the duration. The hybrid is mapping everything within twenty light years of our present location, but M class stars don't give away much anywhere along the spectrum, so we may have to jump before she finishes. Your job is to hang on until the basestars exit the system, and then make the rendezvous."

"Not to worry, Colonel. I've got a deck of cards, and Eight wants to learn how to play Triad. We'll let you know when it's safe to return. Bulldog, out."

"The Raiders will intercept the first wave of attack craft in thirty seconds," one of the Sharons at the navigational console reported. "They'll be outnumbered three to one, but they'll still have the tactical advantage. If they had lips," she scornfully added, "about now, they'd be licking them."

"Order them to engage," Hoshi frowned, "but only to cover our retreat. Make it clear that they are to disengage and jump the moment we leave."

"They'll be disappointed, Louis," his XO commented. "The Raiders are warriors, and this is easy prey." There was a feral gleam in Sharon's eyes that Hoshi had not seen before. Involuntarily, he shivered.

_She smells blood,_ Hoshi thought. _They all smell blood. They want to fight for the pure joy of killing their enemy._

"Sharon, we're not here to fight a battle, and we can't replace our losses … not without a resurrection ship. This is a holding action. Don't let it turn into a brawl."

"Yes, sir." The XO couldn't keep her own disappointment from showing, but in the stream she dutifully passed the human's orders on to the Raiders. "I'll get us to 1487, sir … and the hybrid will keep working the problem right up to the last second."

"Stellar cartography is not one of my strengths, Sharon … and we don't have much to go on. The limiting factor is the jump range of the civilian ships that were supposed to desert the fleet and rendezvous with us … and I don't have that information. I don't even know whether they could reach us in a single jump. This is all guesswork."

"I understand, sir. It will take time to plot every M class star inside your battlestar's jump bubble, but we'll get it done. After that, it's just a question of throwing enough Raiders at the problem. The more scouts we send out, the sooner we'll find your missing flight pod."

. . .

"Enemy fighters are closing to attack range," the lead pilot reported. "What are your orders?"

"Ignore them," the task force commander responded. "Pursue and destroy the enemy baseship. If we encounter a Heavy Raider, disable its jump drive. The pilots are to be taken alive."

"By your command."

. . .

The Raider swooped in out of the distant sun. Its lone red eye was continuously in motion, and it flexed its wings experimentally. In the vacuum of space, no one could hear its high-pitched squeal of joy. Although it loved to play among the stars, the Raider was above all things a bird of prey, and today it would feast.

The hunter's primal brain waited for the vast herd of metal ships to stampede, and then it pounced. It disgorged missile after missile, and no matter how desperately the quarry twisted and turned, the missiles struck home. Tiny suns repeatedly flared and died in the darkness of space.

Now the chase began in earnest. The prey was a predator in its own right, and it was threatening the nest. Nothing was more important than the nest; it had to be protected at all costs. The Raider glided through space, easily following its chosen victims. Its cannons fired, and fired again. Still, no matter how much it feasted, the threat to the nest only seemed to intensify.

Wholly concentrating upon the hunt, the Raider did not sense the threat to its rear. A sharp stab of pain registered in its primitive brain, and the stars were swallowed whole by a cresting wave of intense light. As the light faded and the darkness closed in, its last thought was for the safety of its home.

. . .

D'Anna Biers hung up the phone, and climbed to her feet. The report that had just come in made no sense whatsoever, but the admiral would still have to be informed. He was at his usual perch, beneath the DRADIS array.

"Excuse me, Admiral. I have just spoken with my sister on the resurrection ship. Something quite odd is happening over there."

Saul Tigh ambled over to join the conversation.

"She indicates that the buffers are being overwhelmed with downloads … the buffers that receive Raiders."

"_Raiders,"_ the XO barked in surprise. "Dee, get Kat on the line." In the absence of Natalie's baseship, Louanne Katraine routinely dispatched Raiders to scout ahead of the fleet, with at least one Heavy Raider in close support. The orders never varied: if the enemy finds you, you bug out and you race for home.

Adama picked up his own phone, and Dee patched him through to Sonja Six.

"Sonja, D'Anna has just notified us that the resurrection ship is experiencing a massive Raider download. How many scouts do we have on patrol?"

"Sixteen, Admiral … with two Heavy Raiders providing operational support."

Bill put his hand over the mouthpiece, and whispered "sixteen" to Colonel Tigh.

"Say again, Kat … do you confirm sixteen Raiders and two heavies currently tasked to forward recon?"

Tigh nodded his head in Bill's direction.

"Wait one, Sonja." Bill looked up to his cylon communications specialist. "D'Anna, contact your sister; see if you can get me at least an approximate number for what we're dealing with here."

Less than a minute later, D'Anna was once again at the admiral's side.

"Sir, my sister estimates that there are currently between four and five dozen Raiders in the queue, but the number is rising steadily."

"Sonja … we're approaching five dozen, and the number keeps increasing."

"Admiral, someone's fighting a major battle out there within resurrection range, and it isn't us."

"I agree. Could Natalie be in trouble?"

"It's possible, Admiral, but it should be easy to check. If Kara and John are in any danger, the hybrids will be … agitated."

"Good point," Adama conceded. "But let's do this by the numbers. Send a Heavy Raider out to check on our patrol."

Bill hung up, and turned back to D'Anna Biers. "Contact both the baseship and the resurrection ship. Have them send someone to eavesdrop on the hybrids. If they're in distress, we need to know about it."

"Colonel Tigh," he finally decided, "set Condition Two throughout the fleet."

. . .

"Okay … what if we move at least part of the medical team on the _Inchon Velle_ to the baseship. Bigger, better equipped surgical theaters should be quite an inducement …"

"I don't think the Threes would be welcome on the _Velle_," Shelly observed, "but we could move some of the Gemenese off the other ships and free up space that way."

"It's worth a try," Roslin agreed.

The thin curtain that separated the president's office from the rest of _Colonial One_ slid aside, and Tory Foster walked in.

"Damn it, Tory, I told you that we don't want to be disturbed!"

"I'm sorry, Madam President, but it's the admiral. He wishes urgently to speak with his wife."

Laura Roslin and Shelly Adama were currently buried under a small mountain of paperwork. The Threes had opted en masse to abandon Pelea's baseship and move out into the fleet, but they hadn't bothered to notify either the president or their own Quorum delegate of their plans. The government was playing catch-up, and it was a logistical nightmare. The already overtaxed civilian ships were being asked to take on roughly a thousand new passengers, and the two women understood that this was only the beginning. Where the Threes led the Twos would follow, and the exodus would only gather momentum when Natalie's baseship returned. The situation would quickly become intolerable unless they could find a way to relocate a like number of humans to the baseships. With a statute now on the books outlawing impressments, this was proving to be tricky business.

The two women stared blankly at one another. Shelly was rapidly approaching the end of her first trimester, and her husband knew better than to interrupt his sometimes prickly wife when she was hard at work on _Colonial One_. Roslin picked up her receiver, and silently passed it across.

"Yes, Bill," Shelly curtly demanded.

"How are you feeling today?" _Galactica_ might be going on alert, but Admiral William Adama still figured that it wouldn't hurt to extend the olive branch.

"Overworked and underappreciated," his beautiful cylon wife shot back.

"Well, if we make it through the day, I'll treat you to a hot oil massage later on tonight. But right now, I need your advice."

Shelly straightened up, and her demeanor changed instantly. "Are we in trouble?"

"We're not sure. The resurrection ship is currently drowning in Raider downloads, but they're not ours."

"Natalie?"

"We don't think so. Both hybrids are their usual contented selves. It's the same mix of sensor read-outs and baby talk that we've been getting for the past two weeks. Nothing's changed."

"Well, if they're not ours …"

"Then where did they come from?" Bill completed his wife's thought.

"Could the Cavils be quarreling among themselves?" Shelly was clutching at straws, but she couldn't come up with a better explanation off the top of her head.

"That's an ugly thought. What in the name of Hera do we do if a bunch of Ones suddenly show up and start demanding asylum in the fleet?"

"We tell them to go frak themselves," Shelly bluntly answered. The Six swore so infrequently that Laura Roslin's eyes went wide. She couldn't wait to find out what this conversation was about.

"What do you think? Should we go ahead and download a half dozen or so … maybe send them back out to wherever this battle's being fought?"

"Bill, you asked for my advice; here it is. The Ones are devious, so I would proceed with caution. They may be using resurrection technology to scout our location. Worse yet, they may be trying to slip their Raiders into the fleet. I recommend that you box them all, and wait to see what happens next. Who knows … maybe someone will come around looking for their pets."

"Sonja wants to resurrect a few. She's equally suspicious, but she takes the position that we have to know whether the Cavils have come up with a new wrinkle."

"Thanks to your well-stocked library, I'm now intimately familiar with the story of Pandora's Box. You might want to ask my sister if she's conversant with the tale."

In _Galactica's _CIC, the admiral grimaced. His wife had just raised the ugliest possibility of them all.

"You're right, Shelly; we simply can't run the risk." Bill sighed in resignation. "It's going to stretch our defensive capabilities pretty thin, but I'm going to initiate a search of everything within twenty light years of here. If the Cavils are playing in our backyard, we need to find them."

. . .

"Colonel, we've reached the intersection." Philista had been eying the DRADIS like a hawk, waiting for the moment when grid 4753 3462 1387 gave way to its neighbor. "We can jump at any time."

"Eight, how long have we got before the basestars reach missile range?"

"Three to four minutes; the Raiders can't hold them off."

"Sharon," he asked quietly, "will that give the hybrid enough time?"

"No, it won't. Louis, as we move, the sphere moves with us. We need to buy more time."

_Damn it, Hosh … think! The fleet was parked coreward of this system, about five light years out. Logically, the next set of jump coordinates would have again taken them in the general direction of the core. Where would Cain have fixed the rendezvous point? Not coreward … and a reciprocal jump would have put Demand Peace perilously close to the battlefield. No, we must have jumped north or south of the plane … somewhere on the Y axis …_

"Sharon, order the hybrid to concentrate exclusively on the negative Y axis. Eight, we'll hold here until we have incoming. I want to jump five seconds before their missiles find us. And for the love of Zeus, make sure that the Raiders understand they are not to throw themselves on the ordnance! This is not a suicide mission!"

"Yes, sir!"

The baseship slowed, and then came to a dead stop. Hoshi knew that his Raiders were tearing into the obsolete cylon attack craft with a vengeance, but the weight of numbers was against them, and the battle was drawing remorselessly closer to his command. He was counting down the seconds in his head, praying that he had guessed right. Common sense suggested that Cain would have set the rendezvous in space that she had already traversed, and her thinking had always been disturbingly linear.

"We have forty inbound," Eight yelled out, "and they're all carrying nukes! Ten … nine … eight … seven … six …"

"_Jump," _the hybrid screamed. Three seconds later, the flock of missiles poured into the space that the baseship had just vacated.

. . .

"The enemy baseship has escaped, and their Raiders are withdrawing. We have not captured a Heavy Raider. What are your orders?"

"Hmm," Lucifer mused; "there is no logic to their actions. They delayed their jump until the last possible second … but why? What were they doing here?"

"Without a prisoner," the centurion intoned, "we cannot answer that question."

"I know … I know … I was just thinking out loud. We IL's do have our little quirks, don't we?"

"I detect no rust in your joints, and your circuits are unimpaired. What are your orders?"

"Send our scouts to survey the planets in this system. Perhaps there is something of value here that makes it important to the humans."

"By your command."

. . .

"We make a good team," Philista murmured as her fingernail lightly explored the valley between Sharon's breasts. The Cylon shivered with answering delight.

Hoshi had ordered his senior staff, both human and Cylon, to get some rest. More Eights had taken their place, along with two human officers—a cohort that the colonel had dubbed his "second watch."

"In more ways than one," Sharon purred. She rolled onto her side and leaned in to kiss Philista fully on the mouth. Her fingers were already tracing their own gentle course in the cleft between her lover's thighs.

"I'm a machine, so I'm not supposed to have feelings … but I do. I love you, Philista."

"I know," the human whispered as she tenderly ran her fingers through Sharon's hair. "But I'm glad to hear you say it because now I don't feel like such a fool. The worst form of heartache comes from falling in love with someone who doesn't love you in return. I love you, Sharon. And when we reach the fleet … will you marry me. Will you become my wife?"

"_Yes,"_ Sharon delightedly exclaimed; _"oh, yes!"_

The two women kissed again, but this time with much greater passion.

"_I thought,"_ Sharon moaned, "_that … _oh, oh, that's good … _you_ … oh … _would never ask!" _The Eight was in ecstasy. "Are we going to have children?"

"Absolutely … both of us; I want a large family!"

"_Don't stop … whatever you do … don't stop!"_ Sharon's spine felt like it was on fire.

"But what about our different beliefs," the Cylon wondered.

"I'll convert … become a monotheist." Philista privately held the gods in studied contempt. Whatever else one might say about Him, at least the One True God could never be accused of incest.

"Then I want a Gemenese ceremony." Sharon was breathing heavily, and her heart was pounding. She thought that her chest might explode. "And I want you to take the vow—to love … honor … and obey!"

"Always, and … and … in all things," Philista responded, her own breathing now shallow and labored. "My heart belongs to you … my soul … but you must treasure me … now, and forever."

"I will," Sharon promised. "I will always love you, and I will always keep you safe."

The two women made love, their passion overflowing yet leavened with surprising gentleness.

_We're so different,_ Philista fleetingly thought, _and yet we're so much the same. _Hours had passed, and Sharon was sleeping peacefully in her arms._ There's no barrier that love can't erase, no burden that it cannot ease. _Philista Liu slowly drifted off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that Sharon's love would never fail her.

. . .

"_Seeker_, this is Bulldog. Put the coffee on, and make sure that there's plenty of hot water. Right now, a shower and a shave sound awfully good!"

"Welcome home, Bulldog. I trust that the two of you enjoyed your rack time. Did you run into any problems?"

"Negative, Actual; it was just another joy ride. We found a nice, big hole on one of the asteroids, and crawled in. We waved to the Cylon fleet when they went by, but the humorless bastards didn't wave back. Now they've moved on to the far side of the system. We left when the first basestar jumped. What's our status?"

"We have three M class systems on the negative Y axis that look promising. We'll take them in turn—draw an imaginary sphere around each star, and have the Raiders scout everything 7.8 light years distant. With our resources, it'll go fast."

"Keep an eye peeled, Colonel; the opposition had a lot of Raiders wandering around out there. I don't think they were sightseeing."

"Understood, Bulldog … and let's just pray that we're not all looking for the same thing."

. . .

"Would somebody remind me what it is that we're looking for," Racetrack sarcastically commented.

"Word has it that the Admiral's lost his cat," Lieutenant Hamish McCall answered. "Here, kitty, kitty," he mocked while initiating his fourth DRADIS sweep of the day.

"That's not even close," the Eight cut in. Sharon had been flying with Margaret Edmondson for so long that she had absorbed many of her mannerisms. "Several dozen Raiders downloaded, and they're not ours. The Admiral's opening a used Raider lot, and we're out here trying to drum up some customers. I hear it's going to be one of those 'buy two, get one free' deals."

"Yeah, well … I've got squat," Skulls announced. "Sweep four is clean."

"All right … two more jumps, and we can call it a day. Eight, punch in the next set of coordinates; maybe we'll get fifth time lucky."

Racetrack engaged the Raptor's FTL, and pushed deeper into sector 7 on _Galactica's_ negative Y axis.

. . .

"We have completed our search of this system," the centurion reported. He could not see the IL series robot, who was seated, his back turned, on a dais high above. "There is no sign of the humans. There is no sign of the traitors. What are your orders?"

Lucifer turned his chair so that he could look down on the 0005. "We shall jump to the next sector and continue the search. However, I order you to leave one full squad of Raiders behind. They are to hide throughout the asteroid belt, and remain in hiding for the next secton. There is tylium here, and water; the humans may yet return to exploit them both."

"By your command."

. . .

"Jump six is complete," the Eight called out from the navigation station. "We are precisely 7.8 light years from the nearest M class star, which is also the closest stellar body in this region."

"How far have we jumped," Hoshi queried in return.

"12.4 light years," the Sharon responded. "We are now five degrees south of the galactic plane, and slightly rimward of our previous position."

"I'm dispatching three hundred and sixty Raiders," the XO declared, "equally divided between the X and Y axes. Sister, plot a jump that puts us at the right distance on the opposite side of the star."

The Raiders exited their nests, and began jumping away. A few minutes later, the baseship spooled up its FTL's and, for the seventh time, jumped on Louis Hoshi's command.

. . .

"_DRADIS … multiple contacts,"_ Skulls screamed. "No Colonial ID ... _they're hostiles_!"

"Frak, we've jumped into a hornet's nest! Sharon, give me a reciprocal heading. Skulls, how long will it take to bring the FTL's back on line?"

"_Gimme two minutes!"_

"We have incoming," Sharon yelled. "They're at twelve and two o'clock high!"

Racetrack turned hard to port, and took her bird straight up … but the cylon missiles turned with her.

"They have missile lock," the ECO screamed again.

"Skulls, on my mark, deploy one of the decoy drones!" Racetrack waited for the first missile to close, and then she stomped on the rudder and drove the Raptor to starboard.

"_Now," _she barked. She held the turn, trying to mask her power signature. The drone's was an exact match. . . .

"_Missile down,"_ Skulls exclaimed.

_One to go,_ Margaret thought as she took her ship straight down.

"Second missile closing," the ECO yelled.

"Fire the chaff," Racetrack ordered. "Come on … where are you, you bastards?"

The second missile exploded harmlessly in the field of aluminum debris that Skulls had deployed in their wake.

"Three contacts closing," Sharon called out. "What the frak?"

"_New DRADIS contact," _Skulls interrupted; "single contact … sending Colonial recognition codes … but they're old. Lieutenant, whatever it is, it's not one of ours!"

"Then treat it as hostile," Racetrack growled. "Sharon, arm missiles; let's see if these bastards can take some of what they're dishing out!"

"Margaret," Sharon said as she began flipping the switches that would bring the Raptor's weapons systems on line, "I frakkin' don't believe this. We're mixing it up with a bunch of the old three passenger vehicles. Those things belong in a museum!"

"The single contact is firing missiles … but not at us! Two bogeys are breaking off to engage …"

"Leaving one for us," Racetrack concluded. "What the hell is this place … Caprica City central station at rush hour?"

"He's on our tail," Skulls roared; "closing for the kill!"

Racetrack abruptly shut down the Raptor's thrusters, and hammered the maneuvering brakes; the antique cylon Raider flew past them in a blur.

"_Fire missiles,"_ she screamed.

Sharon viciously punched two green knobs, and a pair of missiles streaked out in pursuit. The Raider took it up hard to starboard, but it didn't possess the Raptor's sophisticated countermeasures suite. Sharon's missiles closed … closed … and tore the hostile apart.

"_Yes," _Margaret yelled as she raised her fist in triumph.

"Another bogey down," Skulls excitedly yelped as a second tiny sun briefly flared off to port. "And the last of the bad guys is bugging out! He's jumped!"

"Skulls, talk to me … where's our mysterious benefactor, and what's he up to?"

"He'd dead ahead, LT, and closing the range … but he's coming in slow and easy! I'm not getting any power readings."

_He's shut down his weapons systems?_ Racetrack glanced over at Sharon. "It could be a trick," she muttered.

"I'm on it," Sharon responded. She loaded the coordinates for their first jump back to _Galactica_, and her hand hovered over the FTL switch.

The Raider swam lazily into view, and finally came to a halt a few meters beyond their canopy. The roving red eye stilled, and Margaret Edmondson would have sworn that it was staring straight at her cylon co-pilot. Then it rolled over onto its back.

"Uh … does anyone know how you … uh … well … scratch this thing's belly?"

"Gently?" Sharon was just as dumbfounded as her human friend and fellow pilot.

Not knowing what else to do, Racetrack dipped the Raptor's wings. She felt like a complete idiot.

The Raider slipped beneath them, turned, and moved off at a leisurely pace. When the Raptor was safely outside its wash, it jumped away.

"Well, that was interesting," Margaret commented to no one in particular.

"Do you think it was trying to tell us something," Skulls asked. "Like … maybe it would be a good idea to get the hell out of here?"

"Yeah … for sure; Sharon, _punch it_!"

The Raptor jumped for home, and less than a minute later, five cylon basestars stormed onto the scene.

. . .

"Now, I want to make sure that I've got this straight. When you jumped into sector 7 grid epsilon, you were immediately assaulted by three cylon attack craft—three antiques that date back to the first war._ And," _Adama summarized,_ "they were equipped with missile launchers._"

"Yes, sir; they were in a triangle formation, and the two lead ships each fired one missile. We defeated them with evasive maneuvering and the usual countermeasures." Racetrack had kept her report short and to the point.

"Gods, Saul, it's like a bad dream." Adama and Tigh were the only two people on the ship who had gone toe to toe with the toasters in the old days.

"But," Sonja pressed, "when you returned fire, the cylon vehicles attempted to evade, but they did not deploy countermeasures?"

"That's correct, sir."

"And in the midst of the melee, another Raider jumped in, fired missiles, and lit up one of the enemy craft. When it was all over, this Raider approached your position, rolled over, and asked you to tickle its tummy?"

"Also correct, sir."

"And of course none of you were drinking while on duty," the XO sarcastically remarked.

"I don't drink," Sharon stiffly countered.

"Bill, this is actually very good news."

"_Good news," _Tigh snorted; "for whom?"

"Colonel," Sonja calmly pointed out, "what Shelly means is that Cavil has committed his reserves, but he's not deviating from his philosophy of all-out attack. He's upgraded the offensive capability of the first generation Raiders, but he hasn't equipped them with the defensive arms that come standard on any Raptor. He remains predictable, Colonel, and that works to our advantage."

"And now there's someone else out there … a third party to serve as a distraction." Shelly had run the problem posed by the mysterious Raider over and over again in her mind, but the answer still eluded her. "Logic suggests that the cylon civil war has spread to other baseships, but at present that's all that we can say."

"Unless the whole gods damned thing is one of Cavil's twisted mind games," Tigh suggested. "This wouldn't be the first time he's set a trap for us."

"Destroy 75 Raiders on the off chance that they would download on our resurrection ship? I don't think so, Colonel. And how could he have staged the dogfight with Margaret's Raptor? No, Saul; there's at least one baseship out there somewhere that's gone rogue. We just don't know who we're dealing with."

. . .

"So, according to the hybrid, one of the Raiders encountered a colonial Raptor being jointly piloted by 'a Maker and a Maker of the Makers'. And this makes sense to you, Doctor?"

"Colonel, welcome to the exotic world of hybrid-speak." Baltar was feeling insufferably smug. The hybrid clearly enjoyed his company over that of any other being on the ship. "She's simply saying that the Raptor had one human and one Cylon pilot. It must, therefore, be a part of Adama's command."

"The Raptor is a short-range reconnaissance vehicle," Hoshi observed, "so _Galactica _must be reasonably close … I'd say one or two jumps away at the most."

"Colonel, need I remind you that there are five basestars out there, and that they are also a mere jump or two away?" The scientist wanted to press the search for _Pegasus_; he had been on bad terms with Marta Shaw, and he was salivating at the prospect of forcing her equally sanctimonious daughter to get down on her knees and beg for their help. He wanted the Eights to drive a hard bargain, and he was planning on being the quiet voice that was whispering in their collective ear.

"Relax, Doctor; I have no intention of chasing after Adama. _Pegasus_ badly needs our help. If those basestars find her before we do …"

"No more _Pegasus," _Baltar brutally concluded.

"Gaius, could you talk to my sisters … perhaps reassure them? Philista has told us stories about your ship … about what the men did to one of the Sixes. She says that she was afraid to walk the decks by herself … that a lot of the females were afraid. Colonel Hoshi and Lieutenant MacIntyre are so nice that we don't know what to believe. Many of my sisters do wonder, though, whether it will be safe to bring the human males on board."

Baltar patted the Eight's hand, and trotted out his most sympathetic and understanding expression.

"What the _Pegasus_ crew did to Gina was wrong," he agreed; "wrong, and unjust. Admiral Cain was a monster, and Commander Shaw is no better. She executed civilians on a ship called the _Scylla_ because they refused to submit to slavery … murdered them in cold blood. You would be wise not to trust her. But don't worry; the centurions can maintain order, and I will be here to counsel you. I will let you know who you can and cannot trust."

"Oh, Gaius," Sharon said as she snuggled up against him, "what would we do without you?"

. . .

Light and shadow danced in intricate and ever changing patterns across the tabletop, a third presence in the vast chamber that dominated the ancient church. John Bierns had been in space for so long that he had all but forgotten the playful quality of natural light. He wished that he could walk outside and soak up the morning sun, but his vertigo had not improved over the passing weeks. He had come down to the surface of Gemenon in the predawn hours because he could move about more freely in darkness.

The former spy took perfunctory sips of his tea while he politely waited for Lacy Rand to finish her cup. He had been in this room several times over the years, and he knew the Blessed Mother's personal habits well. She cultivated patience, and she demanded it of others. They could not talk business until this particular ritual was behind them.

"Almost sixty years in office," John commented when they had finally set their cups aside. "Did any of your predecessors serve for this long?"

"No," Lacy admitted with a smile. "But you do need to keep in mind that I was only eighteen when I … um … evicted the previous tenant."

"Ah, such delicate phrasing," John laughed. "I'm curious. You must have given some thought to your replacement. Do the U-87's factor into your thinking?"

"Certainly," the Blessed Mother conceded. "You might say that they have the ultimate veto power in this matter."

Lacy stood up, and walked around the table to sit at John's side. She lowered her voice so that it would not carry in the cavernous interior.

"I hand-picked the Conclave and I trust all ten of them. But their faith has not been tested, and I am reluctant to nominate a successor who has not been through a personal crisis."

"Would you permit an old friend to make a recommendation?"

"Please."

"You once told me that humanity is the defining characteristic of a true leader, and that it is most visible in those moments when circumstances tempt us to renounce it. You also alerted me to the possibility that humanity might not be exclusive to human beings. I've thought about the latter point a lot over the years, and as usual, have come to the conclusion that you were right all along. Lacy, there's a young woman here, whose suffering has been enormous. She lost her faith in God, but reclaimed it when she discovered that her own pain had only served to strengthen her compassion for others. She has plenty of blood on her hands, but she's learned the distinction between justice and vengeance the hard way. And, she keeps lecturing me about all the bad choices that I'm making, which makes her very wise."

"I like her already," the Blessed Mother lightly grinned. "Somehow, she seems very familiar."

"Yeah, she does remind me of somebody I know," John agreed. "But she also has one other important qualification … a Cylon will pass muster with the U-87's."

"Gina Inviere. Oh, don't look so surprised, John. I guessed the purpose of this meeting, and I knew that you would choose either Gina or Polyxena. The U-87's will be very pleased."

"You'll need to groom her, so don't plan on retiring anytime soon!"

"I'm not … we have too much work to do. I'll seat her on the Conclave, and bring her into the inner circle. I'll position her so that, three or four years out, her nomination will be inevitable. She'll be armed with all my secrets!"

"God help us all," John roared. "Sixes are manipulative by nature, and you're going to give Gina the keys to the kingdom. Gemenon may never be the same!"

"Well, that's the idea, isn't it? A definitive break with the past will give us our best shot at building a society free of discrimination between man and machine. Just out of curiosity, how long will it take for hybrids to replace true humans?"

"With this population mix … we calculated six generations. But it might go more quickly; obviously, we didn't take the cylon immune system into account. If it significantly delays the onset of menopause, you can throw our numbers right out the window."

"And their immune system and long life span only kick in upon pregnancy. John, I don't suppose that you and Gina …"

"No, Lacy … we didn't!"

"Oh, well; never mind. I'm sure that Gina will do her duty to God and country, especially when I remind her that a hybrid must inevitably succeed her."

The Blessed Mother walked off to an alcove on the far side of the room, and returned with a decanter and two brandy snifters. The early hour of the day notwithstanding, she poured generously.

"I propose a toast: to mystery and deceit, the cornerstones of any faith!"

"To Lacy Rand," John countered; "the mistress of manipulation, my mentor, and my friend."

. . .

"Well, well, well … what do we have here," Philista crowed.

"It's inorganic," Sharon observed, "and it's pretty good sized. It may well be your severed flight pod."

Louis Hoshi breathed a noisy sigh of relief. This was the third and last M class system on the negative Y axis. If they had come up dry here, it would have been back to the drawing boards.

"Eight, send out a Heavy Raptor to confirm the finding," he ordered. "But let's also go on the assumption that we've found our point of departure. Lay out a direct course from here to Kobol, and send out sixty scouts … one light minute intervals."

. . .

"DRADIS contact," Curtis shouted; "bearing 358, carom 006 positive!"

"Authenticate," Shaw barked.

"Commander, it's flashing Colonial ID. Wait one. It's firing our own recognition codes back at us!"

"Commander, Stinger wants you … immediate."

"Put him through, Mr. Newell."

"Commander, this is a JANUS alert; repeat, I am declaring a JANUS alert."

"Understood," Shaw said as she slammed down the phone. "Miss Palaikastro, launch the alert Vipers and set condition one throughout the ship."

Kendra Shaw looked around the CIC of the battlestar _Pegasus_. "Listen up, people; the Cylons have found us!"


	41. Chapter 41: Coincidence

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MILD SEXUAL ACTIVITY**

CHAPTER 41

COINCIDENCE

"Five seconds to turn six," Caprica mumbled.

She was deep in the stream, deeper than she had ever been before. Erika Waldstein had imprinted the circuitous path through the asteroid field upon her consciousness, but knowing the approach was one thing. Guiding an enormous Cylon baseship through the eyes of more than twenty different needles was quite another. Caprica was under enormous strain, and it showed on her face.

"Make the turn now," she commanded.

In the hybrid's chamber, Sharon Bierns was gripping her husband's hand, but it was slack. John Bierns was sprawled on the deck, his body showing virtually no evidence of life. The First Born also knew the twists and turns of this deadly passage, but he had opened his mind so fully to Reun that he barely registered even in the stream. For all intents and purposes, he was gone.

"Lead dorsal positive one-half," Caprica ordered; "trailing ventral negative one-quarter. Ten seconds to turn seven …"

"Turn now."

The hybrid drew upon John's knowledge to cross-check the change in course. It took less than a second to verify the heading, and Reun made the turn.

"Lead ventral negative three-quarters, trailing dorsal positive one-half." The ship dipped as the hybrid directed it through a narrow gap between two massive chunks of churning rock.

In the control center, Natalie Faust was only one of the many Cylons who were in the stream, following their ship's tortured course through the labyrinth. Reun and John had won battles over Caprica and Kobol with precision jumps, but the FTL's could not help them inside the asteroid belt. In theory, neither a battlestar nor a baseship could navigate the narrow pathways of this dangerous three-dimensional minefield, but Harlan Berriman had situated the Colonial Secret Service's principal arms depot in its depths for precisely this reason. Together, Ghostrider and Brandywine could lead a capital ship safely through the maze, but left to their own devices neither Bill Adama nor Natalie Faust could hope to do so.

"Turn twelve in five seconds," Caprica announced. She was in a fugue-like state of her own.

Natalie wondered if the humans and Cylons gathered around her fully appreciated what they were witnessing. This was what Cavil had been hoping to achieve when he had genetically reengineered Kara and John. The hybrid children could do things that taxed the abilities of both species, and sometimes they exceeded them with ease. The two hybrids were incredibly powerful weapons, and as John was now demonstrating … not just on the battlefield.

"Execute turn seventeen in five seconds …"

Caprica was now perspiring heavily, which astonished Lee Adama. It had never occurred to him that a Cylon could sweat.

"Lead ventral yaw positive three-quarters; turn eighteen in ten seconds …"

_Every hybrid conception will be at risk … but for how long? Just how narrow is the window within which Cavil must operate? _Natalie Faust was decisive by nature, and she did not handle frustration well. She did not need a pressure cuff to tell her that this particular problem was causing her blood pressure to rise.

_We are entering the asteroid's gravity well. _Reun was editing the data that the baseship's external sensors were collecting from near space, and forwarding the results through the stream.

Caprica abruptly severed the connection, and stepped away. She had brought them to the doorstep, but she could not orchestrate the microscopic adjustments that would align the baseship with the asteroid's lone docking arm. Reun and John were now completely on their own. . . .

"I show hard seal," one of the Eights finally called out from her auxiliary console.

Apollo picked up a telephone. "Chief, we show hard seal."

"Aye, sir … I confirm hard seal. Now, if you'll excuse me, Captain … rumor has it that they've got a few hundred nukes on the premises, and they're apparently first come, first serve."

. . .

"_DRADIS contact_," Ensign Curtis yelled. "It's a cylon baseship, Commander; the same bearing … 48 MU's out … constant velocity … CBDR." He looked up at Kendra Shaw. "They've got us."

"Launch the reserve Vipers," Shaw snarled. "They're to keep station on our six, and protect the sublights at all cost. Miss Palaikastro, get Wang and Ephialtes on the horn. The toasters may try and board us, so I want the marines to deploy in formation gamma foxtrot three. Full tactical … and make sure that they're all armed with explosive rounds."

Kendra scanned the DRADIS screen hanging over her head. What was left of her crew had worked long hours in the vacuum of space, installing the backup sensors that had gradually eliminated the dozens of blind spots along _Pegasus'_ battered portside. But the battlestar still didn't stand a chance in a straight up fight with a baseship, nor would her exhausted crew be able to repel an all out assault by thousands of centurions.

"Mr. Riley, it's time to arm the nukes. Please input your code, and on my mark, turn your key."

Shaw entered her own code.

"Ready? Three … two … one … mark." Both officers turned their keys, and at the tactical station a half dozen red lights instantly turned green. _Pegasus_ was now a flying bomb, and Kendra Shaw could detonate it by throwing a single, makeshift switch.

. . .

"We've found them." Hoshi felt as if a ten thousand pound weight had suddenly been lifted off his shoulders. "Thank you, everyone; it's a privilege to serve with you."

"Ah … Colonel … I can't imagine that Commander Shaw is very happy at the moment … not with a cylon baseship lighting up her DRADIS. Shouldn't we send the Raiders out to defend us?" Gaius Baltar had survived Saturday night bar room brawls on Aerilon, a nuclear holocaust on Caprica, and a shoot-out with centurions on Kobol. He had survived both Laura Roslin and Helena Cain. He was not about to fall victim to friendly fire.

"Louis," his cylon XO nervously added, "_Pegasus_ is launching Vipers. They are less than four minutes away—and the Raiders are our only effective defense. We need to do something."

"We'll compromise," Hoshi agreed. "Sharon, send out one hundred Raiders, but they are not to engage. They are to fire only if fired upon. Philista, try and contact _Pegasus_—fleet priority channel one."

. . .

"The baseship is launching Raiders," Curtis warned; "and they are continuing to close the range. They'll achieve missile lock in three minutes."

"Helm, bring us about! If these bastards want a fight, we'll give it to them!"

"Commander, the baseship and the Raiders are all sending Colonial recognition codes … and they are authentic."

"It's an old gag, Mr. Newell, so ignore it. Mr. Riley, stand by your board. This is now a nuclear strike mission. Load targeting package bravo, tubes three through ten."

"Sir, confirming the targeting package; we are ready for launch!"

. . .

"_Radiological alert,"_ Sharon cried. "_Pegasus _has armed multiple warheads. They're in the tubes, awaiting launch!"

"Philista … what's happening?"

"Sir, we're sending the correct recognition codes, but they're not responding. They must think it's a trap!"

"Well, that's understandable, isn't it?" Hoshi picked up his telephone. "Connect me, Lieutenant; we need to end this before it spirals out of control."

. . .

"_DRADIS contact, bearing 242, carom 012 positive … two Raiders at eighteen MU's and closing!"_

Adama looked up at his own DRADIS display, and noted that the intruders had already changed their heading. They had assumed a course parallel to the fleet, but they were clearly intent on keeping their distance.

"Thank you, Six; Dee, set condition one throughout the fleet, and notify all captains to stand by for emergency jump to the standby coordinates. Saul … who do we have on CAP?"

"Artemis Six is on lead in a Heavy Raider, with two Vipers in support … Hot Dog and Mustang."

"Launch the alert Vipers," Bill ordered. "Dee, I need Artemis now."

"You're on, sir."

"Six, this is Actual. I want visual confirmation on the hostiles. Do not engage … I repeat … do not engage. Get in as close as you can, and let your camera do the work. We need information, not kills."

"Understood, Admiral … you want film at eleven." Artemis changed course, and headed off to intercept the enemy craft.

. . .

"My lords, Major, this place makes the Ragnar Anchorage look like a second-rate nightclub. Just who in Hades were you planning to fight … Zeus … Ares … the whole damn pantheon? It's going to take us thirty-six hours at a minimum to load the ordnance, and I don't know what we're supposed to do with the fuel. There's enough refined tylium here to shift the entire fleet to the opposite end of the galaxy!"

Galen Tyrol and John Bierns were standing in the entrance to one of the many storerooms that honeycombed the asteroid. They had already been at it for more than three hours, and they had barely made a dent in the CSS arsenal.

"You're absolutely right, Chief- that was pretty much the idea. Every simulation that we ever ran ended up with at least a few battlestars escaping, but the critical point is that there were more than one and a half million civilians in space when the Cylons hit, and that was by design. Unless the Cavils got very lucky, it's hard to believe that our fleet, and the one that Cain encountered, were the only survivors."

"You really believe that a lot more ships managed to flee the Colonies, don't you?"

"Yeah … actually I do. In the end, it's a question of mathematics. The Cylons ended the day with only seventeen baseships, and I can account for all of them. They simply did not have the resources to pursue every ship that got away. What bothers me, however, is that so far we've seen no evidence that anyone else has been here. That's scary because this place is in the war book … I personally uploaded the coordinates seven hours before the attack. At Ragnar, Adama was pragmatic enough to give up the war for lost and commit to shepherding the civvies out of the combat zone. We're here now only because he made the right call. Ah, but the 64,000 cubit question remains: was he the only surviving commander to behave so sensibly? Was everybody else like Helena Cain—a lunatic hell bent on going out in a blaze of glory? There's the X factor, Chief. We rigged the game, but we couldn't control the players. The civilian ships won't get far without the military, but we couldn't weed out the Helena Cains of this world … we couldn't prevent what happened on the _Scylla_."

"Cheer up, Major. You and Caprica are the only people who can get a ship in here … hell, no one else would be crazy enough to even try. So, there could be a hundred battlestars out there, and this place would still be gathering dust."

"Thanks, Galen, but I'm afraid you're wrong. At a minimum, any commander worth his salt would have sent Raptors in to collect the nukes. But when we got here, the inventory was intact. I hate to say it, but it's beginning to look like _Galactica_ really is the last battlestar standing, and that's bad news. Habitable planets are few and far between, and the odds are pretty good that the Cylons have surveyed everything within easy reach of the Cyrannus system. Without a _Galactica_ to scout surrounding space and provide logistical support, the civvies would have run out of food and fuel long before they could get clear and find a new home. Gemenon and the fleet might well be all that's left."

Bierns' tone was as somber as his mood. He had repeated the same lies so often that they now came easily to his tongue.

"Sir, if things are as bad as you believe, then I strongly suggest that we strip this particular cupboard bare. The Cavils don't seem like the type to go gently into the night. This war could go on for years, and without fuel and ammo we won't stand a chance!"

. . .

"Commander," the communications officer yelled, "I have the baseship on priority channel one. Sir … it's Colonel Hoshi!"

"_What? Say again!"_

"It's Colonel Hoshi, sir; he's transmitting ship-to-ship and personal identification codes. They both check out."

_It has to be a trick,_ Shaw rapidly decided. _They must have captured his Raptor, and tortured him for the codes. Still …_

"Mr. Newell, put him on speaker." Kendra glanced around the CIC. The air was positively electric with anticipation, the oppressive feeling of determination mixed with despair giving way right before her eyes to a kind of desperate longing for survival.

"Colonel, this is Actual. You must realize how odd this looks. Make me happy."

"I'm sorry, Commander, but happiness comes from within. Besides, you're not my type."

Shaw grinned in spite of herself. Hoshi had had a serious crush on Jurgen Belzen, and he had good-naturedly endured a lot of ribbing at the hands of the other junior officers.

"It's good to hear your voice again, Colonel. And you must have a really interesting story to tell, but right now I need to speak with whoever's in charge over there."

"Ah … that would be me, Commander."

"Huh? _You're in command of a Cylon baseship?_"

"Yes … but the _Seeker _has a Cylon XO. Her name is Sharon, and she's a very impressive young woman. She is Lieutenant Liu's fiancée."

Kendra's jaw dropped. "Did I hear you correctly, Colonel? One of my officers is engaged … _to a Cylon_?"

"That's right, Commander," Philista cut in. "We're here to help," she added defiantly, "but there can be no repetition of what happened to Gina Inviere on this ship."

"What Lieutenant Liu means," Baltar smoothly interrupted, "is that we have been frank with the Eights. They are the only model on board, and while they want to help, they are understandably nervous about the mindset of your crew … especially your male crew. The Sharons are gentle and timid by nature, and the prospect of being raped and tortured by people they are trying to help terrifies them. If you want our assistance," he huffed, "you will need to assure them of your good intentions—and equally assure them that you can keep your crew under control."

"And what exactly is it that you're offering, Doctor?"

"It turns out that baseships are organic, and self-healing. The ship produces a kind of organic resin that it uses to repair even the most severe damage. It has a gel-like consistency when first applied, but as it sets up it takes on the characteristics of cartilage—tough but flexible. We propose to give _Pegasus' _spine a thick coat, and after it hardens try and jump the ship. Since we cannot predict the outcome, it would be prudent to transfer all but the most essential personnel to our baseship beforehand. But please understand that you will have to leave your weapons behind, Commander … all of them. This will make it easy for the centurions to maintain order."

"_You expect us to surrender to centurions?"_ Shaw couldn't credit what she was hearing.

"If _Pegasus_ survives the jump, you can crawl back to the fleet or go off and fight the Cavils on your own—it's your choice." Baltar had decided to ignore anything that Shaw chose to say. "If she doesn't survive, we'll take your crew with us and hand them over to Admiral Adama when we catch up with _Galactica_. He may or may not decide to prefer charges against the individuals involved in the massacre on board the _Scylla_ … that's his call."

Baltar paused just long enough to let the threat sink in, and then he exquisitely twisted the knife.

"I know that the admiral takes the Articles of War quite seriously, and piracy _is_ a capital offence. That's what the unprovoked slaughter and enslavement of civilians on the _Scylla_ amounted to, you know—an act of piracy. And I should think that the admiral's Cylon wife is most displeased with what happened to her sister. All things considered, Commander, you and your crew have a lot of explaining to do."

. . .

"Unidentified cylon craft, this is Six. Shut down your engines, and prepare to be taken in tow."

Sonja eased her Heavy Raider forward. She didn't want to spook the two museum pieces, so she had opted to keep her weapons systems powered down. Adama wanted her to film every square inch of the interlopers, and she was determined to oblige him.

"Come on, you toaster sons of bitches, I know you can talk … so, say something already!"

In the control center of Pelea's baseship, Louanne Katraine blinked in surprise. "I must be hearing things," she remarked. "I could have sworn that Sonja just called your ancestors 'toaster sons of bitches'."

"We don't really include the 0005's in the family tree," Leoben said with a knowing grin. "In fact, none of us have ever encountered them before."

"Unidentified cylon craft, acknowledge on this frequency or we will tag you as hostile and proceed accordingly. This is your final warning."

"Six, this is Hot Dog. I've had it with this crap; request weapons free."

In the CIC, Adama immediately picked up his phone. "Hot Dog … Actual; do not engage … I repeat … weapons hold." He was closely following the macabre scene that was playing out on the DRADIS console above his head.

"_Come on," _Sonja muttered in obvious frustration; "shoot me, spit on me … _do something_!"

She drifted in still closer, but the two antique Raiders continued to ignore her.

"Actual … Sonja; I've got everything we need, but I'm worried that the 0005's are conducting their own passive electronic sweeps of the fleet. I recommend that we drive them off or shoot them down, whichever comes first."

"Sonja … Actual: break off and head for home. Hot Dog … Mustang … you are weapons free. Splash the bogies and return to the barn."

"It's about frakking time," Mustang cursed. He rolled his Viper hard to starboard, and settled into the kill slot behind one of the enemy craft. "I've got the one on the right," he yelled.

"And I've got the one on the left," Hot Dog exclaimed.

The two Raiders jumped away.

"_Frak," _Costanza roared. "_Galactica_, this is Hot Dog. The Raiders have bugged out; I say again, we did not get to take the shot."

Adama simply nodded; he had been expecting this.

"Colonel Tigh, stand down from condition one, and make the ship ready for jump. Dee, confirm that the fleet has all FTL's spooled up and ready to go."

"I confirm, sir."

Bill picked up a second phone, which linked him directly to the baseship's control room.

"Six, initiate jump, and launch a standard CAP on the other side."

A moment later, the baseship disappeared from the DRADIS display. Although his focus was elsewhere, in the background Adama could hear the various departments reporting in as the XO took them around the horn in preparation for _Galactica's_ own departure.

"Retract the pods," Tigh barked. "Sir, the ship reports ready for jump."

"Very good; Dee, signal the fleet."

"Jump," Adama ordered.

Shelly turned the massive key, and once more space folded around the ancient battlestar. When the ship reemerged, Bill knew that the uncharted nebula that was their immediate destination was now several light years closer.

. . .

"Lieutenant, you appear to be somewhat agitated. Is everything all right?"

Hoshi was in the landing bay, giving last minute instructions to the team that was about to make the short hop over to the _Pegasus_. Danny Novacek and one of the Eights would pilot the Heavy Raider that would ferry Gaius Baltar, Philista Liu, and his cylon XO to the battlestar. Sharon had been programmed to be a maintenance engineer, and she would ultimately be the one who would have to decide whether the baseship's organic resin could bond with the colonial vessel's composites and alloys.

"I'm sorry, Colonel," Philista replied with a weak smile. "I haven't worn this uniform for a long time, and _Pegasus_ … this all feels so strange to me. And I'm worried about Sharon. It would only take one person with a gun, in a moment of panic or anger …"

"I know, Philista … I know." Hoshi's voice was calm and soothing, but on the inside he was just as concerned. "And Commander Shaw is equally alert to the danger. That's why she's agreed to meet your party on the hangar deck with just a few of her senior staff in attendance. There shouldn't be any marines on the premises, and none of the knuckledraggers should be armed. We're all determined to keep Sharon safe."

"Thank you, Colonel; you're a good man."

"Philista," Sharon said as she clasped her lover's hand, "please … don't be afraid. God brought us together for a purpose, and He will not abandon us this day. You'll see … everything will go well."

Hoshi took Gaius Baltar aside. "Doctor, talk to Shaw. Try and work up a list of essentials that are in short supply. Tell her that _Seeker_ is prepared to render humanitarian assistance … food, medicine … whatever they need. If we have it, we'll share it."

"Gaius," his Eight urged, "I want you back in one piece, so don't go anywhere that's unsafe. I'll be here waiting for you when you return."

Baltar kissed her hungrily, and then walked up the steep ramp. A few minutes later, the Heavy Raider glided out of the landing bay.

. . .

"All right, people," the XO growled, "stand to attention! This isn't recess, and we're not on the frakkin' playground! Let's look sharp, and show these people that _Pegasus_ is still a ship of the line!" Sophia Palaikastro stood rigidly to attention at Kendra Shaw's side.

The Heavy Raider coasted to a stop, and the massive ramp slid noiselessly to the deck. A dark-skinned pilot in human uniform walked out of the cylon craft, and Kendra stiffened when she saw the creature at his side. It was one of the almond-eyed female toasters that she had glimpsed on her visit to _Galactica_; the machine was wearing a featureless black outfit that seemed to be the cylon equivalent of a Colonial flight suit.

The human paused at the foot of the ramp, and crisply saluted her.

"Lieutenant Daniel Novacek, formerly of the battlestar _Valkyrie_; I'm now serving under the command of Colonel Louis Hoshi of the rebel cylon baseship _Seeker_. My co-pilot is Sharon Eight; requesting permission to come aboard, sir."

"Permission granted," Shaw answered; "and welcome back to the Colonial fleet. You were a POW?"

"For seven years, Commander."

Kendra couldn't contain her surprise.

"It was an intelligence operation near the Armistice Line that went bad," Bulldog explained. "My Stealthstar was blown to hell, and I ended up swimming in cylon space."

"Commander, you should be proud of Lieutenant Novacek," Baltar said as he descended the ramp. The scientist didn't bother asking for permission to board. "The lieutenant has steadfastly repeated the same, tired old lies year after year. In all that time he's never offered up a single piece of useful intelligence to the enemy. Hopefully," Gaius viciously remarked, "Adama will pin a nice, shiny medal on his chest when we finally catch up with the fleet."

"It's good to see you again, Doctor," Shaw replied in a frosty tone of voice. "I must say … you exhibit a remarkable ability to land on your feet. Have you been lending your formidable talents to the Cylons?" She studied Baltar through narrowed eyes.

"_Achilles_ … _Agamemnon_ … _Prometheus_ … _Valkyrie _… _Zarathustra_ … there were a number of incidents along the Armistice Line, Commander." Philista and Sharon had also reached the bottom of the ramp. "They appear to have been deliberate acts of provocation," Philista angrily went on to say; "and they were certainly direct violations of the Cimtar Accords."

The young officer sprang to attention. "Lieutenant Philista Liu of the _Seeker_, and our Executive Officer, Sharon Eight; request permission to come aboard, sir."

"Permission granted," Kendra mechanically responded; "although I'll refrain from welcoming _you _home. Colonel Hoshi tells me that you are engaged to this … thing. My gods … the two of you could be sisters."

"Sharon is here to help you, Commander—you might want to keep that in mind." Baltar looked contemptuously at Kendra Shaw. "And yes, I have been advising the Cylons. _Inter alia_, I have advised them to be wary of you and your crew. These Eights are not the enemy, Commander, but I am not at all sure where you stand. You seem incapable of adapting to new circumstances, and you are blind to the most elementary lessons of history. Why are you so surprised to discover that Cylons and humans have been reaching out to one another? That sort of thing has happened in every war ever fought on colonial soil, and it's been doubly true of the peace settlements which followed."

Shaw ached to lash out at the smugly superior scientist, but she bit down hard on her tongue. _Pegasus_ needed help, and if that meant cutting a deal with a pack of demons, she would swallow her pride and do so without hesitation.

"You may well be right, Doctor," she said contritely. "I have enormous respect for Colonel Hoshi. If he thinks that this alliance can work, then I'm willing to give it a try."

"Then why don't you offer Sharon your hand in friendship," Gaius venomously suggested. "The Cylons do understand the gesture." This was rubbing salt in an open wound, but Baltar wasn't going to pass on any opportunity to humiliate Marta Shaw's daughter.

Kendra composed herself, and extended her hand. Sharon, who had still not said a word, silently accepted it.

"Welcome to the _Pegasus_," Shaw said through gritted teeth. She turned to her right. "This is Sophia Palaikastro … my XO. You will be working directly with her and with our Chief of the Deck, a civilian named Peter Laird. If you need assistance, they will extend you every courtesy."

"Thank you, Commander," Sharon finally said. "We will do our best to save your ship. My sisters and I will need access to your hull. We plan to apply our resin on both the interior and exterior faces, and while it cures, we'll run compatibility and stress tests on damaged compartments throughout the ship. I trust that this will meet with your satisfaction?"

"That will be fine," Shaw nodded. "Miss Palaikastro is in charge of internal security, and she will see to it that your … sisters … remain safe while on board. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to the CIC." Without waiting for an answer, Shaw stiffly about-faced and hurried away.

Baltar smiled malevolently. This first meeting had gone even better than he had anticipated.

. . .

"_DRADIS contact, bearing 086, carom 004 positive, distance 26 MU's … two Raiders, holding their position."_

"Well, that didn't take long," Tigh wryly observed. "In one or two more jumps, they'll be waiting to greet us when we arrive."

"What worries me," Adama noted, "is that they're bringing the bearing down with every jump. They're getting better at predicting our reentry points."

"The Sixes are getting faster at computing our jump calculations," Shelly commented, "but this is the third time in a row that their scouts have found us before we've finished the next set. We need to do something to buy ourselves more time."

"Then let's change things up a bit," Bill decided. "Saul, contact Sonja and tell her to ignore the Raiders. If they want to sit out there, we'll let them."

The admiral walked over to the navigation console. Felix Gaeta's old station was currently being held down by a pair of identically blond Sixes, and they were hard at work plotting the next jump when Bill interrupted them.

"Dionysia, we're getting too easy to find, so I want the two of you to try something unorthodox. Keep us well short of the red line on this next jump, and take us north of the galactic plane. Choose a heading that puts us on the positive Y axis."

"Admiral, the fleet will need to stop and refuel in two more jumps. If Cavil's baseships catch up with us during a refueling stop …"

"I know, Rhodope, and that's why we're going to test their intentions right here and now. Let me know when you've agreed on the next set of coordinates."

Adama returned to his customary spot beneath the central DRADIS console, and Tigh strolled over to join him.

"What have you got in mind?"

"It's occurred to me that the Cylons are waiting to hit us when we're refueling, so once we're ready to jump the fleet, I'm going to take the _Zephyr_ and the _Thera Sita_ out of formation and hook them up to the cylon tanker. If I'm right, the Raiders will head for home, and in short order we'll be up to our elbows in baseships. With any luck, we'll have the size and disposition of the enemy task force down pat before we clear out."

"That's clever," Tigh conceded. "We'll finally find out what we're up against."

"Yeah," Bill agreed, "and who knows … thanks to the resurrection ship, maybe this time we'll have the tactical advantage. I would love to carry the fight to those bastards … give them a bloody nose. Every time we hurt them, they leave us alone for weeks … sometimes months."

Twenty minutes later, Dionysia handed Shelly a set of coordinates that would radically alter the fleet's heading. Shelly transferred the new course to a recently updated chart of the surrounding stellar neighborhood, nodding with approval as she did so. Then she beckoned for Bill and Saul to join her.

"All things considered, this is pretty good. It puts us on a heading perpendicular to the nebula along both the X and Y axes, so if the Ones do find us, it will look like we've decided to skirt the cluster rather than cut across it."

"Bill, the Cavils should buy it." The XO tapped the chart for emphasis. "Avoiding the nebula is the safe bet. The electromagnetic interference in there will blind us, and the stellar dust will do a number on our engines in fairly short order. We're not desperate enough to go charging into this kind of snake pit, and the Cavils damned well know it."

"Okay, we'll go with this. Shelly, have Dee distribute these coordinates to the fleet. Saul, I want you to contact the _Zephyr _and the_ Thera Sita_, and bring their captains up to speed. Let's see if the Raiders take the bait."

Long minutes passed, and still the Raiders did not move. The _Thera Sita _patiently maneuvered into position alongside the tanker, which extended its hoses to make the connection. Four seconds later, the two Raiders jumped.

. . .

"It's not enough that we've got a bunch of toasters crawling all over the hull," Riley pointed out in a low voice; "now, they're running foot loose and fancy free in the bowels of the ship. They give me the creeps." He spooned more sugar into his coffee.

There was a general murmur of agreement throughout the officer's mess. It was lunchtime, and every seat was taken.

"Hey, Kevin, my men are doing their job, all right? And you should be down on your knees thanking the gods that the toasters aren't camped out in the CIC," Wang retorted. "You don't have to put up with the smell. Man, I swear … that cylon goop is overpowering, and I've had to breathe it in for the last six hours."

"Yeah and for sure, Ray, you marines have it rough … standing around watching the little robot girls plaster the ship with that organic crap of theirs." Peter Kelso snickered knowingly. "Word has it that things are going so slowly because the toasters spend most of their time making goo-goo eyes at your men. It must be hard to maintain discipline in the ranks when your whole unit has a hardon. How do you handle it, Ray? Do you give the troops a little free wank time, or do the Eights like to spend their breaks on their knees?"

"_That tears it," _Wang roared. He jumped out of his chair and leapt at Kelso, overturning the table and sending cups and saucers flying in the process. The marine lieutenant got in one very satisfying roundhouse right before the other officers separated the two combatants and pushed them to opposite sides of the room.

"_Enough … all of you… settle down!" _Sophia Palaikastro glared at the junior officers. Like so many of the senior staff on _Pegasus_, the new XO was from Tauron, and she had the tattoos to prove it.

"Mr. Wang, report to the CIC and bring the commander up to date on the cylons' progress, or lack thereof. Then get some rack time. Mr. Kelso, notify Sergeant Ephialtes that you will be completing the balance of Lieutenant Wang's shift. It's my understanding that this organic resin that the Eights are spreading around makes everything smell like a latrine—a latrine that backed up two weeks ago but is still in use. However, it may well be that what I'm hearing is the usual moaning and groaning in the ranks, and nothing more. Let me know, Mr. Kelso. I want you back in the CIC at 19:30 hours, with a detailed report in hand. Oh … and while you're at it … the Eights are the experts, so consult with them before you present your findings. If this goop isn't working, the commander needs to know about it sooner rather than later."

Sophia let her eyes wander around the mess. Helena Cain had always kept the crew at arm's length, and she had relied upon fear to maintain order. Jurgen Belzen, in contrast, had been approachable, and he had taken an interest in many of the younger officers. His death had been a terrible blow to morale, and matters had quickly gone from bad to worse when Cain next decided to allow the cylon prisoner to be raped and tortured with impunity. The impact upon discipline among the ratings had been devastating, but Cain had turned a blind eye to the danger to which she was exposing her female crew. She had been so intent upon revenge that she simply did not care. Fisk had toed the line, but he was no Belzen, and Kendra Shaw was too young and inexperienced to command anyone's respect. Brawling officers had thus become a symptom of a stricken ship, one adrift with little or no sense of purpose.

"I've heard enough whining to last a lifetime," she went on. "Perhaps all of you have too much time on your hands. If that's the problem, I assure you that there's a ready solution. It's called work, and there's plenty of it going untouched. So, the next officer who complains about how hard he's got it will find himself pulling a double shift for the indefinite future. Am I making myself clear?"

Sophia didn't expect an answer and she didn't get one, but there was so much resentment in the air that she could have cut it with a knife. "Fine; get back to your posts."

_We need to give these people a chance to regain their self-respect, _she reflected, _but how? We've sunk so low that we're accepting charity from our enemies. How can a ship this badly crippled get back in the fight? _

. . .

"Dee, set condition one and order the fleet to jump. Contact the captains of the _Zephyr _and the_ Thera Sita_, and tell them to hold until the rest of the civvies are away."

"Sir!"

"Saul, get every Viper that will fly into the air, and station three Raptors with full missile loads on our nose. D'Anna, patch me through to Kat or Six … whoever's got the duty in the control center."

"This is Kat; what are your orders, Admiral?"

"We have an unknown number of hostiles inbound. Launch every Raider that'll fly!"

"On it, sir!" She turned to Leoben, but he was already in the stream.

"Helm, starboard two-thirds, and bring us up ten degrees; Eight, load ship-to-ship missiles in all tubes and confirm conventional warheads only."

"All gunnery captains," Tigh yelled, "auto cycle the primary batteries for full salvo fire, and stand by to fire on my mark; secondary batteries, hold for enemy suppression barrage."

"Admiral, the baseship is matching our course correction. DRADIS puts five hundred Raiders in the air, as well as forty Heavy Raiders. Twenty of the latter are picketing their FTL's."

"Thank you, Dionysia. D'Anna, signal the baseship; I want twenty Raiders to ward off anyone who comes nosing around our FTL's and sublights."

"_DRADIS … multiple contacts,"_ Dionysia cut in; _"multiple bearings and caroms … distance 14 to 22 MU's … confirming five of the old basestars. Admiral … we're surrounded."_

"Colonel Tigh, designate the hostiles to port and starboard as Tango One and Two, and the one in the slot as Tango Three. Helm, adjust course and make directly for Tango Three; Eight, on my mark … launch missiles at Tango One and Tango Two as we pass. D'Anna, get me Six."

"Admiral?"

"Can you handle the two basestars on our stern?"

"_All hostiles are launching Raiders."_

"I heard that," the overseer Six said. "Don't worry, Admiral … we'll keep them busy. The Raiders are hungry for a fight."

"Don't get carried away, Six. Hit them as hard as you can, and then jump the hell out of here! That's an order."

"Admiral," the Eight called out, "we have a firing solution for both Tango One and Two. Recommend immediate launch."

"Negative! Weapons hold! Dee, get me Sonja."

"This is Sonja; awaiting instructions, Actual."

"Engage enemy Raiders, and draw as many of them away from their nests as possible. Leave the basestars to us."

"Copy that, Actual. All Vipers … you know the drill. Weapons free … and avoid _Galactica's_ firing solution!"

"Tracking sixty missiles inbound," the Eight yelled.

"All secondary batteries … commence enemy suppression barrage," Tigh ordered.

"Eight, on my mark … _fire_!"

Forty missiles leapt into space and bore down on Tango One and Two. The basestars relied upon their Raiders for point defense, but hundreds of the enemy fighters were already caught up in a full-scale brawl with Sonja's Viper Mark II's. The reserves knocked down most of the warheads, but three of them slammed into the superstructure of Tango One, and four more tore into Tango Two. One of the latter exploded in a fuel cell, and a geyser of brilliant flame erupted into space.

"_Incoming,"_ the Eight screamed.

Two missiles impacted on the aged battlestar's heavily battered upper hull, and one of them punched through to explode in an abandoned storage compartment. Flames shot out through the rent in the hull, and _Galactica_ lurched violently down and to starboard.

Saul Tigh was thrown off his feet, but he recovered quickly. "All primary batteries … _commence fire_!"

Thousands of rounds of heavy caliber ship-to-ship ordnance began to pour out of _Galactica's_ many guns, each of them targeted on Tango One or Tango Two. The Raiders intercepted what they could, but a steady stream of shells nevertheless found the mark. The two basestars began to vent air as the unending barrage opened compartment after compartment to space.

A third missile exploded against the side of the port landing pod, and two secondary batteries vanished in a bright ball of flame. A few seconds later, a fourth missile struck home, and one of the giant water tanks on _Galactica's _starboard side began to vent its precious cargo into space.

"Gods, Bill … we won't survive in here for very long, not against three basestars! Have we got a plan?" Tigh wasn't afraid, but he was more than a little curious.

Adama was hugging his left arm tight against his chest. He knew it was fractured—he had landed heavily when the initial missile strike threw him hard to the deck. He just didn't know how badly.

"Six," he grimaced, "where's Tango Three?"

"Bearing 000, Admiral, but they're withdrawing before us. We haven't been able to close the range, which remains at 8 MU's."

"Helm, dead ahead … make all speed. Saul, get a damage control team up to A deck; we need to seal the hull breach forward of frame 38."

Tigh picked up his phone and began barking out orders. He looked closely at Bill, and finished up by ordering a med team to the CIC.

"Sonja, this is Actual; give me a sitrep."

"Actual, Tango Two is dead in space, and we can finish if off at our leisure. Tango One is hurt, but still in the fight. Tango Three is undamaged, and in full retreat. The IL commanding this task force is probably on board … those bastards have never liked to put their precious metal hides at risk."

"What's the situation astern?"

"Admiral," Sonja laughed, "all I can say is that picking a fight with a pregnant and very ill-tempered Louanne Katraine is probably not a very good idea!"

. . .

"The Raiders have established a perimeter," one of the Sixes called out. "What are your orders?"

The black-clad overseer had her hand in the stream, and a dark scowl on her face. Her pride had taken a beating in the so-called Battle of the Resurrection Ship, and she was machine enough to admit it. Now she had a chance to redeem the mistakes that she had made that day, and she was determined to take it.

"Admiral Adama wants us to hit them hard, and that's precisely what we're going to do. Six, come to bearing 110, and close to attack range. Eight, arm all missile batteries on the lead ventral and dorsal. Target the central axis on Tango Five, and launch when we turn to starboard."

Captain Louanne Katraine watched the well-oiled cylon machine swing into action, and her frustration began to mount by the second. She was the CAG and she was supposed to be directing her ship's fighter complement, but the only way she could visualize the battlefield was to see it from the inside of her cockpit. She abruptly stormed out of the control room, and headed for the landing bay where her Viper was stored.

Leoben Conoy rushed down the hall after her. The Two doted on Kat, and he wasn't about to stand tamely aside and let the human do something that would endanger her or their baby. He knew exactly where she was heading, and exactly what she was planning to do.

"Louanne," he said when he caught up to her, "you can't do this. The Admiral has expressly ordered you to stay out of the cockpit."

"Yeah, well, what's he gonna do? Toss me in the brig for insubordination? Somehow, I don't think so." Kat threw off Leoben's hand, and hastened on down the corridor.

But Leoben was easily able to match her pace. His brain was working furiously, trying to find a compromise that would allow Louanne to preserve her dignity while at the same time keeping their child safe. And then it came to him.

"Louanne, every river follows a meandering course, and its currents ebb and flow. The torrent rages in one channel, only to become a tranquil brook in another. The river never strives to be two things at once, and so it must be with our lives …"

Kat groaned out loud. "Leo, please … not another lecture on rivers and streams!" She picked up her pace in a vain attempt to leave him behind.

"You cannot risk the baby, but that does not mean that you have to stand forever upon the shore. There will be rapids for you to negotiate in future, but not today. Today, we'll take a Heavy Raider. My flight status is not restricted, so I will pilot and send orders to the Raiders through the stream. You will give the orders … you will direct the battle for us."

Kat stopped dead in her tracks, and scrutinized him closely. "And you'll do what I tell you to do, no questions asked?"

"There will always be questions, but I will not always ask them."

"Fine; let's go."

The cockpit of the Heavy Raider offered a fine view of the battlefield … _if, _Louanne thought,_ that term has any meaning here_.

Kat's baseship was standing well off from Tango Four and Five, and the three craft were busily hurling missiles at one another. But nothing was getting through because, on both sides, the Raiders were knocking everything down.

"You call this a battle," she asked scornfully. "I've had more fun watching grass go. Gods, don't you people know how to do anything?"

"Right," she said decisively, "contact the baseship, and tell them to ignore Tango Four. Close the range on Tango Five; at 12 MU's, I want them to fire a sustained barrage of at least thirty missiles. Meanwhile, you commit one hundred Raiders to preoccupy Tango Four, and send a couple of hundred more to mix it up with Tango Five's defensive screen. When they're fully committed, send our reserves into the gaps. I want them to get in close and fire every missile they've got into the basestar's landing bays."

"But Kat, we haven't got their armor. At close range, we'll be at a serious disadvantage."

"Quit whining, Leo! Yeah, we'll take a few hits … but so what. The only people in any real jeopardy here are us poor, misbegotten humans. The ship will regenerate, and your casualties will resurrect. _Do it_," she screamed.

Hundreds of Raiders formed up, and threw themselves on the more vulnerable three passenger attack vehicles. The ferocity of their attack pushed the defenders back, and Kat noted with satisfaction that the Six was quick to take advantage of the opening thus presented. The baseship turned hard to port, and began to bear down on Tango Five. But her ship was also spinning on its axis, and as she watched dozens of missiles poured out of the batteries housed in the trailing dorsal.

Tango Five was launching more missiles of its own, and the space between the two vessels was soon filled with plumes of white-hot fire as the deadly payloads closed on their respective targets.

A missile punctured the thin armor plating on the trailing ventral, and detonated inside a now empty landing bay. In the control room, a dozen Cylons were sent crashing to the floor.

"_Now,"_ Kat yelled; _"send the reserves in now!"_

A hundred more Raiders hurled themselves against Tango Five's beleaguered last line of defense. Some three dozen broke through the picket and headed straight for the enemy basestar. They began pouring missiles into the landing bays, and the ship visibly shuddered as the warheads exploded—but to Kat's intense disappointment, not one of them found an ammo pod or fuel cell.

. . .

Artemis Six knew that she had what humans called a ringside view of the fight taking place ahead of her. Hers was one of the twenty Heavy Raiders assigned to protect the FTL's, and she was lingering well above the junction where the dorsal arms converged with the central axis. As the battle unfolded, it became more and more obvious that her side's aggressive tactics had taken the IL's completely by surprise. Tango Five was reeling, and Tango Four didn't seem to have the stomach for a toe to toe exchange. Artemis was literally twiddling her thumbs, and after playing peek-a-boo with the enemy's scouts over the past couple of days, she longed for some action.

Her frustration finally got the better of her. Artemis suddenly broke formation, and sent her Heavy Raider racing towards Tango Five. She ignored the queries that pulsed in the stream, and concentrated on finding a hole in Tango Five's defensive perimeter. She punched through, and headed straight for the nearest landing bay.

As she entered its spacious interior, Artemis began launching missiles at the most distant wall. She pursued them, gaining speed as she went, and her heavily armed ship exploded on contact, the fiery remains careening deep into the bowels of the giant basestar.

. . .

She was in the stream, millions of red suns racing past, and then suddenly she was gasping for breath. Artemis knew that she had successfully downloaded, and she fought hard to overcome the nausea and disorientation that were so intrinsic a part of the process.

She smiled. Aphrodite and Stallion were waiting for her, and the human whom she loved with such passion held out his hand to help her from the tank. It was a few hours later- when Admiral Adama and Kat came to visit her- that Artemis learned how Tango Five had been ripped apart by her suicidal charge.

. . .

"It would seem that we have underestimated the humans and their Cylon allies."

"Oh, I don't think so, centurion. Today, we learned a great deal about their tactics. Next time, we will be better prepared."

"Two basestars have been destroyed, and a third is in need of repair. Is the knowledge that we have gained worth such a price?"

"But of course. You'll see, centurion; this was only a minor setback, and a necessary one."

"Perhaps we should concentrate on finding the other baseship. It is an enemy that we can easily destroy."

"Yes," Lucifer hummed; "I think that you are right. Send out our scouts. We will attack as soon as we find them."

"By your command."

. . .

"We'll rejoin the fleet in a few more hours. Getting nervous?"

"Oh, please, Kara; I'm a cylon. We don't get nervous."

"Yeah, right, Boomer … and cylons also don't have nervous breakdowns or commit suicide. Maybe sleeper agents play by different rules … did you ever think of that?"

"Well … maybe once … in my apartment back on Caprica. I threw a picture of my make-believe family against the wall, and glass ended up flying all over the place. It did occur to me in passing that machines shouldn't need help with anger management."

"See what I mean?" Kara was trailing her fingernails lightly but purposefully along the inside of Sharon's thighs. "Machines don't do anger, and machines don't have orgasms. But you … you have mind-blowing climaxes! I wonder … should I be jealous … dear, sweet … _Boomer_; should I be insanely jealous?"

"Don't I satisfy you," the Eight asked with an impish grin. "Do you want me to go get some hands-on instruction from one of your old boyfriends," she teased; "maybe learn a few new tricks?"

Sharon tenderly caressed Kara's cheek, and then leaned over to kiss her full on the mouth. Kara closed her eyes, and a shudder of delight traced its course down the length of her spine. She moaned- a deep, full-throated sound- and opened her mouth wide, inviting her lover once more to explore nooks and crannies with which the cylon was already intimately familiar.

"Not on your life," Kara finally breathed. "Then I really will be jealous … _oh, gods_!" Sharon had dropped her head, and her tongue was now busily darting in and out, grazing the rock-hard nipple of Kara's left breast. The cylon's fingers, blessed with a life of their own, were marking out their own territory in the space between the hybrid's thighs.

"Maybe we should … try and move in … you know … with Lydia and Sibyl," Kara slowly added. She was having a difficult time pulling her thoughts together. "The four of us … would make … _gods_ … the rest of the fleet … _don't stop_ … drool with envy."

Boomer paused long enough to think about it. "Run the air wing from the _Virgon Express_? Somehow," she countered, "I can't see us selling that one to the Old Man."

"Hey, we're his surrogate daughters! We can get away with anything! Besides," Kara giggled, "I'm the Guide; if I'm not happy, then the rest of you will finish up at the wrong end of the universe!"

"And are you happy, Kara?" Sharon's fingers had settled into a rhythm nicely designed to drive Kara Thrace Six wild with desire, but there was a wicked glint in her eyes.

"Deliriously so," Kara confessed. There was real passion in her voice.

"Mine body and soul," Boomer pressed.

"I love you, Sharon. That first day, when Galen told me that you hadn't made it back … you and Lee … it felt like someone had ripped my heart out. The pain was terrible."

Boomer kissed her again, but ever so gently. She had never wanted anything in life as badly as she wanted Kara Thrace.

"I'd die for you, Kara, and not just because you're our first born daughter. I love you in ways that I can't even begin to put into words. When we're together … that's the only time that I'm truly happy."

Kara kissed her in return, and lightly ran her fingers across Sharon's abdomen. Boomer's skin was flawless, and her spirit glowed with the spark of some inner fire.

"So, do you want me at your six when you report to the CIC?" Kara Thrace couldn't keep the inmates in line, but Starbuck could. It had been almost three months since the caustic Viper jock had last put in an appearance, but she was still lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce. Starbuck also cared about Boomer—not, to be sure, as much as Kara, but enough to step up for her.

But Sharon had never really cared for Starbuck, whom she considered a royal pain in the ass.

"No, Kara … thanks for volunteering, but this one I've got to handle by myself."

"Okay … but I'm still going to recommend in writing that the Old Man formally appoint you to be the CAG on this baseship. You're qualified, and a Cylon who wears the Colonial uniform is too valuable an asset to leave sitting on the sidelines."

"And a colonel who fraks a captain won't raise quite so many eyebrows as one who fraks a lieutenant," Sharon deadpanned.

"Adama dropped the fraternization rule, Captain … but it's still 'colonel', or 'sir'."

"Yes, sir … I hear you … Colonel, sir! And does the colonel want me to kiss her lovely ass?"

"It's a suicide mission, Captain; are you sure you want to go there?"

Boomer didn't answer—at least, not in words. She scooted down the bed, and used her tongue to explore one of her favorite parts of Kara's shapely figure. But the cylon had teeth, and she planned on using them to leave her mark.


	42. Chapter 42: Reunion

CHAPTER 42

REUNION

"All I'm saying is that it's damn strange, and we ought to be worried about what's going on."

"Admiral, I agree with Colonel Tigh," Six said. "Yesterday's engagement cost us one hundred and seven Raiders, but they will all resurrect. _Galactica_ and the baseship were damaged, but not seriously so. In contrast, we destroyed two basestars and mauled a third. The other side won't recover the twelve hundred attack craft that they lost, and their centurion pilots are gone forever. What did the Cavils hope to accomplish? And where are they? We haven't encountered them since you captured our convoy, and that was more than two months ago. Obviously, they haven't forgotten about us. No, they're up to something; the only question is … what?"

"The Ones are devious, but we may be giving them too much credit," Creusa objected. "They have suffered one setback after another, and their resources are strained. They may be using the basestars to buy time, while they hold their own baseships in reserve for a later offensive."

The Cylon gasped, and her hand flew instinctively to her belly. She was now in her seventeenth week, and her pregnancy had at last begun to show.

"Are you all right," Bill asked in a voice etched with concern. Cylon pregnancies were largely uncharted territory, and he had two of them to worry about.

"I'm fine, father. I wasn't absolutely sure until last night, but Cyrene has begun to move around. She's not kicking … it feels more like the fluttering of a butterfly's wings."

"Whoa," Saul exclaimed with a grin. "I remember that song … something … something about chasing 'the bright elusive butterfly of love'. Can't say that I ever really understood the lyric, but now it's beginning to make sense."

"Sister, you're glowing," Shelly observed admiringly.

"But I feel so awkward," Creusa confessed. "My shoes don't fit me anymore, not to mention my … you know. Everything aches … I worry constantly about a pickle shortage in the fleet … and I miss Lee. You can't imagine how badly."

"When we finish up here, I'd like you to pay Doc Cottle a visit. Now that the baby's begun to move, he'll want to do an ultrasound ASAP."

"Father, that's not really necessary … and I don't want to be a nuisance."

"Then do it for me. Knowing that my granddaughter is doing fine will mean one less thing for me to worry about."

"May I make a suggestion?" Sonja wanted to get the weekly meeting back on track. "Since the Cavils and the IL's seem to have lost sight of the fleet, why don't we undertake the refueling operation now instead of waiting until after the next jump? We can use the down time to scout the approaches to the rift through the nebula. I want to send a pair of Heavy Raiders into the canyon. If I was Cavil and I was planning an ambush, that's where I'd hide."

"The Sixes all agree on this, Admiral." The black-clad overseer copy also wanted to get down to business. "But I would go further. I recommend that we dispatch additional Heavy Raiders to search out alternative routes through the nebula. The rift is obvious, and therefore dangerous."

"That's sensible," Adama conceded. "Let's send out eight birds with mixed crews. Prep them for a six day mission. We'll keep the fleet here as long as possible, but we'll also set up a secondary rendezvous somewhere on the fringes of the nebula."

"I'd also like to make a suggestion," Shelly said with a grin of her own. "Give Artemis and Stallion the longest patrol of them all."

. . .

"Brothers, I am seriously beginning to wonder whether the phrase 'intelligent machine' is an oxymoron. Otherwise, I am hard pressed to account for the fact that the IL's have turned out to be as big a collection of blithering idiots as the Sixes."

Cavil was in a sour mood. Resurrecting hadn't been any fun at all. His prized collection of pornography was now well and truly out of reach, and it promised to remain that way for the foreseeable future. He had tried downloading a few of his new and improved Eights, but being on the receiving end of the erotic techniques that he had programmed into them had proven oddly depressing.

Cavil passed a joint to Cavil. "Here, brother … this may help."

Cavil took a deep drag before passing the weed on to Cavil. "I need to kill someone. A human or two would do nicely."

"A slow, painful death," another of the first generation Ones said longingly. "You know … something involving torture and mutilation. How I miss the good, old days on Kobol … millions of subjects, oceans of blood, mountains of pain, and at the end of it all … the hybrids."

"My friends, we need to plan for the future, not reminisce about the past …"

Cavil couldn't take it anymore. He reached behind his back, and grabbed the gun that he had secreted in the waistband of his trousers. He thumbed the safety, took brief aim, and fired off a single round. His brother's head exploded like an overripe tomato.

"That's better," he smugly observed.

"It's about time," another Cavil enthusiastically remarked. "I vote that we permanently box the bastard."

"It has to be unanimous," still another Cavil pointed out. He looked around the gathering. "Hearing no objections," he smirked, "I'll take it upon myself to perform this onerous duty. I'll arrange things on the resurrection ship … but please … do carry on without me." He got up and left.

"So, the question remains: how could the IL's go and lose two basestars, and in the process do little more than add a couple of fresh dents to _Galactica's _already heavily battered hide? Our inability to put Adama out of our collective misery is beginning to irritate me."

"I hear you, brother, and I couldn't agree more! Sorry to be late," Cavil apologized as he waltzed into the chamber, "but I have been deep in thought. Alas, a solution to this problem continues to elude me."

The Cavil who was always late looked at the bloodied corpse of his elder sibling. "What did I miss," he asked in a cheerful voice.

"Not much," one of his brothers noted. "Pornographic Pete here lost his temper, and put the frakker out of his misery. Got any objections," he growled.

"Nary a one," Cavil replied. "For all I care, you can box the bastard."

"Consider it done," his pornographically inclined brother sneered. "Are you sure that you can spare us a few minutes of your precious time?"

"Oh, yes," Cavil replied. He decided to overlook the sarcasm that was dripping from his brother's voice. "We have to decide what to do next. Do we throw some more basestars into the fray, or do we leave the Lucifers to twist slowly in the galactic wind?"

"They've still got three ships and over a thousand of those antiquarian Raiders, so let's leave them to their own devices. Who knows? They may get lucky, and actually loosen one of _Galactica's _bolts. The real question is … what are we going to do? Do we continue to lay low, or do we set a trap in the rift? Adama's course couldn't be more obvious."

"When will the new baseships come on line?"

"They'll be fully operational in five months … maybe a little less. But we can begin the trial runs in less than four."

"Then the answer's just as obvious. We follow the fleet at a discreet distance, but we remain passive. Adama will fall prey to overconfidence, and abet his own destruction."

"What do we do about the abominations? Their talents are beginning to worry me."

"Kill the boy whenever the opportunity arises, but not the girl. We need her."

"She's no longer indispensable. If we can get to them early enough, a couple of pregnant Sixes and Eights will do nicely."

"And how do you propose to season the brats? If you'll recall, that was the whole point of expelling the abominations to live among the humans."

"I really did enjoy torturing the humans, and dissecting the Threes, Sixes, and Eights was also a lot of fun. My only regret is that we didn't give our beloved parents a ringside seat. Oh, well … maybe this time. I'm thinking … this time we wait until the abominations are old enough to appreciate the meaning of pain, and then we start torturing their parents—right before their eyes. We'll make it clear that the more creative the whelps become, the less pain their parents will have to endure. And, when the time is ripe … we harvest them."

. . .

"Peter, can you help me?"

She was high up on the scaffolding, and on the deck below Lieutenant Peter Kelso could see little of her except for her legs. Everything else was in shadow, and that left plenty to his imagination. Her voice washed over him like liquid metal, and he knew that her eyes were perfectly capable of swallowing him whole.

"Sure … anything you want." And he meant it. Her name was Sharon, she was a Cylon, and there was a time when that had meant something. But that time had passed in the long hours of the previous afternoon. What had started as a punishment detail handed down by the Wicked Witch of Tauron City (his unspoken nickname for their Tauron XO) had turned into duty so coveted that he had volunteered to relieve Ray Wang when the latter had reported to the infirmary for the morning sick call. His illness was of a type unusual on the _Pegasus_—the type brought on by a bottle of aged ambrosia swallowed too quickly and in excessively large gulps. Kelso had proffered the bottle, ostensibly as a peace offering—but he had also encouraged the marine LT to finish it off in record time.

His prayers to Ares throughout the long hours of the night had not gone unanswered. A dreadful hangover had left Wang unfit for duty, and Kelso had promptly offered to take his place. No one else wanted to go anywhere near the foul smelling cylon goop, which meant that the young lieutenant would have Sharon all to himself for twelve, long hours.

"What do you need?"

"I'm having a hard time getting into this recess, but we can't afford to cut corners. Can you load a trowel and bring it up to me?"

"Sure thing … I'll be right up … but I'll bring the whole tray."

The scaffolding was jury-rigged, and the Eight was almost twenty feet above the deck. A fall, for either one of them, might well prove fatal. But Kelso was more than willing to risk it. He climbed slowly, but steadily, and did not stop until he was standing at her side.

"Thank you, Peter; you're very kind."

The softness of her eyes, the curve of her lips … Sharon was intoxicating, and she was driving him mad with desire.

"There are hairline cracks running at odd angles up there," she said as she nodded in the direction of the dorsal bulkhead. "I think I could reach them if you would hold me around the waist … hold me tight. It really is a long way down," she smiled; "so, I don't want to risk a fall."

"I won't let go," he promised.

"Then let's try it. Ready?"

"Ready."

Kelso got a good grip, and Sharon leaned far out over the edge of the scaffold. She began to plaster the gigantic beam with the cylon resin, a procedure that they had to repeat several times before she was satisfied with her work.

"We make a good team," Sharon said when she finally turned to face him. Her voice was soft and seductive, and he would have sworn that the stars themselves could have fallen into her eyes and disappeared without a trace.

"We do indeed," Peter agreed; his voice thick with lust. He pulled her close and leaned in to kiss her—tentatively at first, and then with greater confidence when he saw his own need mirrored in her eyes. She was shy, he could feel it in the way that she kissed him in return, but she also gripped his hand and slid it up to caress her breast. He needed no further coaxing.

"Can you stay the night?"

"Yes … but where shall I sleep?"

"It'll be a tight fit, but I was thinking … my rack?"

"I like cozy; it sounds perfect."

Peter Kelso did not know it, but more than two dozen Eights would spend the night on _Pegasus_—and none of them would be sleeping alone.

. . .

"DRADIS contact," Rhodope called out from the navigation console. Three targets … confirming Colonial ID … Admiral, we're looking at two baseships and a … a … resurrection ship!"

"A resurrection ship," Tigh repeated numbly. "What in the name of the gods …"

"Admiral," Dee interrupted, "Commander Six is on priority channel two. She wants to speak with you."

"Put her on speaker."

"Actual, this is Six … mission accomplished!"

_Galactica's_ CIC erupted in a wave of cheers and applause, which could be clearly heard in the control center of the the cylon baseship. Adama waited for the applause to die down before he attempted to speak.

"Commander, this is the Admiral. Congratulations on a difficult job well done, and welcome home. I see that you've brought company with you."

"Yes, sir … although in fairness I should point out that the hybrids on the other two ships rushed to help our son when he was injured storming _Pegasus_. When he was sufficiently recovered, he led them back to the Colonies."

"How is the major?"

"He was severely wounded, but he did manage to free my sister Gina. He requires additional medical attention, but I fear that he will never fully recover."

Adama looked down at the console with a heavy heart. His feelings for John Bierns were ambivalent at best, but he knew well enough what it meant for a soldier to be injured in a firefight beyond the point of recovery.

"And his nightmares," Bill quietly inquired.

"They're memories, Admiral, not nightmares—and they're very, very bad. Kara and Lacy Rand, the Blessed Mother of the Church of the Monad on Gemenon, have helped John to make sense of them, but he needs to spend time with Doctor Fordyce. You will also need to talk with Sam Anders, who was one of the resistance leaders on Caprica."

"Anders … is he by any chance the Pyramid player of that name?"

"One and the same, Admiral, but more importantly … Sam is one of our missing five … one of our creators. He is in a very real sense my father. Sam and John have pieced together almost the whole back story to this war, and it is vile. We are so ashamed of what we have done. Eternity would not offer enough time for us to repent of our sins."

Adama didn't want to go anywhere near that last statement, so he took refuge in a side issue.

"Who is the commander of the other baseship?"

"A Six; she has adopted the name Cynthia. Admiral, you should know that we are barely on speaking terms, and she refuses to acknowledge my authority in this fleet. She has made it clear that she wishes to negotiate with you and the President directly. You should also be aware that the resurrection ship is under her command, not mine."

"I see. And what do the hybrids make of all this?"

"Olivia and Circe are loyal first and foremost to John, but Olivia's baseship has also been in telepathic contact with Kara. Both ships have already been drawn tightly into the hybrid matrix."

"Hey, boss … you can stop worrying! Natalie kind of forgot to mention that John's gone and married an Eight, and that they have a baby on the way. It turns out that he also has a wife and daughter in the other dimension that we hybrids all call home, so at the moment he's the very picture of domestic tranquility. He just doesn't have the time for visions, nightmares … whatever. But I'm still me, and I'm itching to get back into the fight!"

"Kara! It's good to hear your voice. Welcome back!"

"Thank you, sir … but be advised that I've brought one of our lost sheep home with me. Do you remember Boomer," she asked with a reasonably straight face.

Shelly and Bill looked sharply at one another. They had both longed for this moment, but it was so awkward that Adama also dreaded it. Exactly what did a person say to someone who had committed suicide, and then come back from the dead?

The silence lengthened, and Kara decided to fill it.

"I'm speaking to you from Cynthia's baseship, which has a full complement of Raiders and Heavy Raiders. They needed a CAG, so I shoved Boomer into a uniform, promoted her to captain, and gave her the job. But I also made it clear to her that nothing's official until you sign off on it, Admiral, sir. So, I recommend her highly, but it's your call."

"Is she there with you?"

"I'm here, sir," Sharon nervously replied.

"Report to the CIC within the hour, Captain," Adama said gruffly. "And be prepared to explain how you see the CAG's duties, and why you think that you're qualified to discharge them."

"Thank you, Admiral; I'll be there in thirty."

"Then carry on. Kara, is Cynthia also there?"

"Yes, Admiral; this is Six."

"I'm calling a conference in my quarters in two hours. The president will be there, and I expect the three baseship commanders and their CAGS to be present as well."

"Understood, Admiral."

"Natalie? Please send Lee over with Boomer, and have him report directly to my quarters. Creusa has more or less moved in with us, and it's important for a father to be there when his baby first starts to move around. Cyrene's made her presence known over the last couple of days; given what we've come to learn about hybrid babies, I suspect that she's eager to make her dad's acquaintance."

"_Dad! Thank you!"_

"Lee? It's my pleasure, son. Are you all right?"

"No … but I will be in about half an hour. But, dad … you should schedule the meeting in a conference room. You'll want to meet Colonel Phillips, the commanding officer of the 3654th … that's a marine combat engineering unit. We've brought virtually the whole of his outfit back with us—and enough heavy equipment to build a new home for our people. Now all we have to do is find a habitable rock, and let them go to it."

Bill and Saul exchanged astonished glances. It was obvious that Natalie's expedition had struck the mother lode.

"Sorry, son, but it's become something of a tradition around here—conferences are always held in the admiral's quarters, with coffee, tea, and alcohol available to all who want them. Now, get your butt over here. Shelly will be along in two hours, but until then you and Creusa can hang out the 'Do Not Disturb' sign. Still, do your old man a favor and try and keep the wreckage to a minimum."

"We'll try," Lee said with a huge grin, "but at this point I'm not making any promises!"

. . .

Lee Adama paused outside the hatch, meaning to exchange a few pleasantries with the two marines who currently had the inglorious duty of securing the entrance to the admiral's quarters. But one of the marines beat him to it.

"She doesn't know, sir. Your appearance is going to come as one hell of a surprise!"

Apollo grinned from ear to ear, and knocked gently on the hard metal surface.

Creusa opened the hatch, and in a fraction of a second, curiosity, shock, and unadulterated joy washed across her beautiful features. _"Lee,"_ she screamed, and then she threw herself into his waiting arms.

Apollo hugged her tight, and began frantically kissing everything that he could reach. When he finally paused, it was to lay his hand gently on her stomach. There was nothing dramatic about the bulge, but it was unmistakable … his daughter.

He guided both of them deeper into the room, and somehow managed to kick the hatch closed with his foot.

"Gods, how I've missed you," he whispered. "You're the most beautiful woman in the universe, and becoming more so each day." Lee kissed her again, but his hand remained glued to her abdomen. "She's moving," he asked anxiously.

"A lot," Creusa confirmed. "She's not kicking yet, so you may not be able to sense her, but she knows you're here … I guarantee it." The young Cylon ran her fingers up and down Apollo's arms. "Oh, Lee … it's so good to have you home. I love you."

Creusa drew him towards the bed, and began unbuttoning his shirt. Apollo kicked off his shoes, and then hastily dropped his trousers. He fumbled with the buttons on Creusa's blouse, and then paused in disbelief. He was staring at Creusa's breasts as if he had never seen them before.

"I know," she softly admitted as she cupped the rounded orbs and lifted them for his inspection. "I can't wear my bras anymore. I'm already one full size larger, and Ishay says that there's no way to predict how much bigger I'm going to become."

"Are you sure we're not having twins," Apollo wondered out loud. He was only half joking.

"I'm positive," she softly answered. "Cyrene won't go hungry … that's for sure. But right now … right now … these are for you. Do you like?"

For answer, Apollo leaned down and took one of her teats into his mouth. Although he was gentle, Creusa instantly began to moan. She could feel him right down to the tips of her toes. Her body was a pool of molten lava.

She fell back on the bed, pulling Apollo down on top of her. She was so ready that the slightest touch would suffice to set her off. Lee's hand drifted lower, his fingers exploring, and then he began lightly to caress her engorged nub. Creusa instantly screamed with pleasure, the tsunami that was her first orgasm carrying her away. But she guided Lee, who was equally ready, deep inside her. She circled him with crossed legs, and stared up into his eyes. What she saw there was not lust but adoration. Creusa was very young, but she understood the difference between sex and love. Lee Adama loved her, and he loved their child. Her life- and her happiness—were equally complete.

. . .

Captain Sharon Valerii paused at the entrance to the CIC. Her life had had its share of difficult moments, but nothing to compare with this. The man she thought of as her father was on the other side of the hatchway, and with him some two dozen people with whom she had shared meals, played Triad … all the daily rituals of life on a warship in deep space.

She took a deep breath, and nodded to Nathaniel Ferris, silently bidding him to open the hatch. Sharon was wearing her old uniform, which one of Galen's friends had somehow rescued from storage, but she was now sporting a captain's rank insignia.

She paused in the entryway, and every head turned, all eyes gazing in her direction. And then her friends rose to their feet, clapping and whistling.

"_Boom … er … Boom … er …"_

The chant, and the clapping, washed over her, and she could feel hot tears stinging her eyes. She had anticipated well-meaning but unintentionally cruel jokes … not this.

Dualla walked up to her, fighting to hold back the tears in her own eyes. The two of them had been friends for years: in Sharon's case, they had literally been friends for life.

Dee pulled Sharon into her arms, and held her close. She tried to speak, but she was too choked with emotion to find the words.

Dionysia and Rhodope, Sharon and D'Anna … the Cylons at their various stations could taste the deep outpouring of emotion that was sweeping through the human ranks, and the realization hit home. Once you became a part of _Galactica's_ family, there was no turning away. Sharon Valerii had come home, to a family that loved her. She was a Cylon, and there were those in the fleet who would still call her a machine … but not in this chamber. Here she was Boomer, and that was all that mattered.

When the storm of emotion finally receded, she drew herself stiffly to attention and formally saluted the Old Man.

"Captain Sharon Valerii, reporting for duty, as ordered."

Adama silently returned her salute, and then walked up to stare deep into her eyes. She could see enormous pain there—pain that she had caused. Abruptly, Bill reached out to grab her by the shoulders, and then he hugged her close. "Sharon … sweetheart …"

"I know … I know … I'm so sorry …"

Shelly watched the two of them embrace, and the thought came to her that, for all of his failures as a father to his sons, William Adama would never disappoint his many daughters.

. . .

The Heavy Raider slid into the landing bay of the _Inchon Velle_, and as she prepared to disembark, Natalie Faust could not help but recall the hostile reception that she had received on her one previous visit to the ship. The captain had made no effort to conceal his contempt, and the passengers had responded to her presence with unvarnished hatred. A lot had happened in the interim, but Natalie still did not know what to expect. She only knew that the war wouldn't be truly over until Cylons could walk these decks without fear of reprisal.

A Three was waiting to greet her, and that took Natalie completely by surprise. The _Velle_ was a Caprican ship, and a citadel of polytheism.

"Sister, it pleases me to see you here, but it also puzzles me. In the past, our kind has not been welcome on this ship."

D'Anna curtly nodded in agreement. "There is still much ill will among the general populace, but the medical staff is more enlightened. We attend to the sick, especially the children. They welcome God's message."

D'Anna knelt, and ruffled the hair of the little girl standing at Natalie's side. "Hello, Pyrrha; I haven't seen you in a long time. Do you remember me?"

"Uh-huh," the child shyly answered; "you're my Aunt Three. This," she said with more confidence, "is my friend Melpomene … and this is Henry!" She pointed excitedly to the centurion, who was carrying three large, unlabelled containers.

"Guess what he's got," Melpomene gushed. _"Ice cream! _Strawberry … vanilla … chocolate … _we brought ice cream for everybody!" _Always irrepressible, Melpomene Meacham was beside herself with joy.

"We thought that it might buoy the children's spirits," a young brunette in civilian clothes commented. She held out her hand in D'Anna's direction. "Melania Peripolides," she said by way of introduction. "I was with one of the resistance groups on Caprica; Henry here joined us when Sam Anders came along."

"It's true, then … the rumor that has been flying around the fleet? Samuel Anders is one of our parents?"

"Yes," Natalie acknowledged; "it's true. And Sam speaks of the earliest copies of your model with great affection. He says that John's mother used to crawl onto his lap when she was tired, and that he read her stories at bedtime. She seems to have been very happy."

A look of deep regret flashed across D'Anna's face, but she quickly composed herself. "Did you bring books for the children back with you?"

"Story books, and … and … coloring books … _and lots of crayons_," Melpomene screamed with her usual dash and enthusiasm. They're in the ship, Aunt Three—but we need to eat the ice cream! It's melting!"

Melpomene looked around the deck, spotted an opening that led deeper into the ship, and rushed off. _"Come on, Henry," _she yelled without looking back. _"You too, Pyrrha … and don't forget the cones!"_

Melania grinned at the two Cylons. "And there goes hurricane Melpomene," she laughed. "Can any of you keep up with her?"

"No," Natalie admitted. "Four of my sisters are parenting her, but it's not enough. Raising children is exhausting, even for a Cylon."

"And you have yet to give birth to your first child. It will be interesting to see how your people handle teething."

Natalie shuddered involuntarily, which for her was quite a novel sensation. Nurse Karanis had told them stories nicely calculated to arouse something called goose bumps, and teething was the worst of all her nightmares.

"Sister, I do not believe that it is wise to allow a centurion to enter this ship. The humans will not react well." D'Anna had reverted to her usual, sober self.

"Relax, Three," Melania chuckled. "I guarantee you that over the next sixty minutes Henry will dismantle everyone's preconceptions about centurions. Just watch!"

A few seconds later, a cacophony of panicked screams began to roll across the landing bay. It was instantly apparent to all three women that Henry's unannounced visit to the _Inchon Velle_ was off to a rough start.

. . .

Flanked by the President and his wife, Bill Adama waited patiently for the Raptor to lower its ramp. The three of them were not alone. The admiral had turned out virtually the whole of _Galactica's_ marine contingent as an honor guard, and the deck was crowded with human and Cylon crew. Helena Cain had been the last beneficiary of such a gathering, but Bill expected this reunion to end a great deal more happily.

Three Colonial officers descended the ramp, with a tall and strikingly handsome civilian following closely on their heels. The three officers stopped at the base of the ramp, and smartly saluted.

"Colonel Alexander Phillips of the Colonial Marines … my aide, Lieutenant Andrea Minor … and Captain Marcus Lysander of the Colonial Special Forces … request permission to come aboard, sir."

"Permission granted, Colonel. Welcome … welcome to all of you. Allow me to present Laura Roslin, the President of the Colonies … my wife, Shelly … and my Executive Officer, Colonel Saul Tigh."

The seven of them shook hands all around, and then Phillips beckoned Sam Anders to come forward. He figured that this was a moment for the history books.

"Madam President … Admiral … I'd like you to meet Sam Anders. We all know that Sam was the star center-forward for the Caprica Buccaneers, but," he laughed, "Andrea claims that he also featured in the best underwear commercial in the history of television!"

This elicited a pair of wolf whistles from somewhere in the crowd, which visibly relaxed. Anders grinned sheepishly, and appeared casually to scan the throng. His eyes lingered momentarily on Saul, Galen, and Tory, but in each instance they quickly moved on.

"Anyway," Phillips continued, "after the attacks Sam pieced together the largest resistance group on the planet—one that ultimately included a full squad of centurions. They kept insisting that he was their father, and we now know that Sam is not only a Cylon himself but also one of the five creators of the various human form models. In short, Sam has a lot of children on this deck … including you, Mrs. Adama."

The crowd stilled as Shelly and Sam silently stared at one another, neither of them quite sure what to say. It was Bill who broke the spell.

"You can be proud of a great many of your children, Mr. Anders … but none more so than Shelly. Without her courage and determination, none of us would be here."

"I am proud of her, Admiral, but I am also proud of you and your crew." Sam gestured expansively at the assembled Cylons and humans. "This is what the five of us labored to achieve … a blended society, one that might put an end to the cycles of violence once and for all."

Sam stepped forward and swept Shelly into his arms, but he settled for kissing her chastely on the cheek. "I am proud of you," he whispered into her ear. "You are one of the few to revolt against Cavil's programming; I wish I knew how you managed it."

"I wanted more," Shelly whispered in return. "I knew that I could be more, and I came to believe that we were supposed to learn from humans, not slaughter them. Is this drive to evolve … is this my original programming?"

Sam held Shelly at arm's length, and gazed at her with open affection. "Yes," he admitted, "but I think it's safe to say that you have exceeded all of our operating parameters. You are a person now, exercising the free will that was our greatest gift to all our children, including the centurions."

. . .

Centurion 114L43H7, otherwise known as Henry, lumbered along behind the two little humans as they rushed into the heart of the _Inchon Velle_. He was carrying three large containers of comestible glucose, each of which contained trace elements of various chemical additives. Analysis of the various chemicals suggested multiple purposes, but the statistically most identifiable was the introduction of coloring to the otherwise largely indistinguishable contents of the three containers.

Centurion 114L43H7 knew that he had to hurry, because the temperature of the containers was rising steadily, and the little Melpomene human had told him that this was a bad thing. Henry had pondered this statement at length, or for 0.44386 seconds, which amounted to the same thing. At that point, he had given up. Humans of all sizes consumed liquefied glucose on a recurrent basis. They bonded it chemically with caffeine and alcohol, and drank it in almost pure form in something called _Leonis Red_. Henry and his brothers were methodically stockpiling the human energy drink because it attacked rust 17.238% more effectively than any other available lubricant.

Centurion 114L43H7 understood the human addiction to glucose. Even the most rudimentary of scans revealed that the reagent had a measurable impact upon their metabolism. But the hybrid on his baseship was also addicted, and this he did not understand at all. Nor did he understand why it was so terrible for this particular form of semi-frozen glucose to achieve a fully liquefied state. The little Melpomene human had told him that this was "yucky." The pronouncement had triggered a frenzied electronic conversation among his brothers, who had collectively devoted 7.878 seconds to a comparative linguistic analysis of the term. This was the longest single debate in the history of his species, but this was hardly cause for mechanical alarm because the little Melpomene human had so far occasioned eight of the eleven most sustained discussions that his kind had ever undertaken. She was responsible for 8.053% of their expanded learning algorithms, and collectively the little humans had added 2,606,417 data points to the reference base requiring further study.

As he followed the two little humans into a large passenger cabin, centurion 114L43H7 automatically deployed his friend or foe recognition software. Father Sam had instructed his children not to harm any of the humans, but he had also instructed them to protect the little humans and the pregnant females, both cylon and human, against any and all threats. The centurions had not expected Father Sam's thinking to be as illogical as Brother John's or Sister Kara's, but they had independently developed protocols to deal with these contingencies. Protecting Sam, Kara, and John would take precedence over all other commands. Protecting pregnant females, little humans, and their hybrid sisters would receive secondary priority, and protecting mature humans and Cylons would come in third. There was, however, a gaping flaw in this logic train, and it threatened centurion 114L43H7's heat sink whenever he considered it: what were the centurions to do in the event of a physically damaging conflict between Father Sam and Brother John or Sister Kara?

Entering the cabin, centurion 114L43H7 visually scanned the human population, whom he cataloged by both size and gender. The humans began to scream, and to retreat before him. Henry immediately initiated a separate scan of their chemical secretions, which heavily favored adrenaline and cortisol. The two little humans were countering with massive outpourings of oxytocin, but it was not enough, and with each passing second Henry could sense their own stress hormones kicking in.

Centurion 114L43H7 sat the three containers down on a nearby counter, and unfurled his arms. He had detected a possible threat to the little humans, and the second commandment dictated that he intervene to protect them. But his actions caused the overall efflux of adrenaline and cortisol to soar 42.523%.

And then someone stormed in with a gun.

. . .

Polyxena quietly exited the Raptor, and caught Bill Adama's eye. She nodded sharply in his direction, knowing that he would understand the gesture: she had found everything on his shopping list … and a great deal more.

"Polyxena," Shelly exclaimed. She detached herself from Sam and eagerly embraced the beautiful young woman who, in some mysterious way, had fashioned a claim on her heart. "You came back," she said in half surprise.

The girl genuinely embraced Shelly in return, and the Six instantly sensed that something wonderful had happened in the Colonies. The distance that had always separated them, and which had hurt Shelly far more than she would ever willingly admit, was gone.

"I need to help John," Polyxena apologized. "He has trouble with ramps and staircases … especially going down." She turned around, and walked back up the ramp.

When Bierns emerged from the interior, Adama drew himself to attention, and the marine honor guard followed suit. The ramp was shallow, but the notoriously self-confident spook never once lifted his eyes, and he took each step so slowly as to suggest that it was deliberately planned. Polyxena was on his left, with an Eight hovering anxiously on his right. Bill presumed that this was the mysterious Mrs. Bierns.

There was movement behind the major, and Adama looked up to see Kara Thrace standing in the hatchway with a Six at her side. For a moment, the Cylon took his breath away. She was blond, her hair arranged with the kind of artful indifference that only time and great skill could manage. But it was the fluidity and grace of her movements that really caught his eye. He judged her to be the most beautiful woman that he had ever met, and he strongly doubted whether there was anyone in the universe who could equal her.

"Permission to come aboard, sir," Bierns said with a lazy grin when he reached the bottom of the ramp.

Bill laughed out loud. He was also remembering that long ago day when the CSS agent had suddenly materialized out of thin air, and how strongly he had been tempted to throw him in the brig. Now, he was simply relieved to learn that whatever he had suffered had not broken the major's spirit.

"Permission granted, Major … Colonel; welcome home."

Kara and John both thanked him, and then Bierns looked at Laura Roslin. He simply shrugged his shoulders. "I managed to extract Gina," he said quietly, "and I left a nasty calling card for Admiral Cain … but there's no way to be sure."

"We have had no contact with _Pegasus_ since you stormed the ship," the president observed. "I think it's fair to say that, even if Cain somehow survived, we've seen the last of her."

Laura took John's hand, and clasped it affectionately. "Thank you," she said, "for everything."

Bierns blushed, and turned to his right. "Sharon, this is our president, Laura Roslin … and Admiral William Adama. Laura … Bill … my wife, Sharon."

"Congratulations to you both," Adama said as he shook the Eight's hand. "I understand that you are expecting a child, so congratulations are doubly in order."

Sharon greeted them in return, and then looked meaningfully at Caprica. The Six took this as her cue, and moved down to join the gathering. Sam Anders quickly went to stand at her side—a gesture whose meaning did not escape the many single women on the deck. A host of fantasies were crushed in an instant; the Pyramid star had already been claimed.

"Madame President … Admiral," John continued, "this is Natasi, who is better known to friend and foe alike as Caprica Six, Hero of the Cylon. But she is also a senior Colonial Secret Service agent, code named Brandywine …"

The revelation predictably stunned everyone on the deck, human and cylon alike, who was not already in on the secret. Shelly stared at her sister, but Laura stared appraisingly at Bierns. In her mind, another piece of a large and convoluted puzzle clicked tightly into place.

"Caprica knows everything that I know," John went on, "including things that I have so far withheld from Reun. If anything should happen to me, Natasi will carry on in my place."

Adama shook his head, in that distinctive way a man does when he's trying to drive off a swarm of gnats. _When did you recruit her? Was it before or after the attacks?_ The questions buzzed inside his brain, but he was too afraid of the answers to voice them aloud.

"Mr. Anders," he offered instead, "Shelly and I would like you and the President to join us this evening for dinner in my quarters. Major, under the circumstances we can hardly avoid another press conference, but this time I would prefer not to be taken wholly by surprise. So, why don't you and Sharon come along as well, and bring Caprica with you."

. . .

"_No," _Melpomene screamed; _"don't hurt Henry! He's my friend!"_

The little girl threw herself in front of the giant centurion, her arms open wide, trying to protect him. Pyrrha had wrapped her arms around his right knee, and was holding on for dear life. She was sobbing uncontrollably.

Melpomene's eyes raced around the room, frantically seeking out someone who might understand. They finally settled on a boy who seemed to be about her age.

"Henry's brought you ice cream," she wailed; "chocolate … vanilla … strawberry … don't you like ice cream?"

"_Put that gun down,"_ Melania yelled from the hatchway. _"Do it now!"_

A look of pure horror washed across Natalie Faust's face as she took in the scene. Heedless of the gun, she rushed into the chamber and dropped to the deck in front of the two children. She tried to spirit Pyrrha away, but her daughter's grip was like steel. She simply refused to let go of her giant friend.

Melpomene squirmed out from beneath the Six, and her eyes fell upon the box of cones, which Pyrrha had dropped in her rush to embrace Henry. She collected the box and opened it, pulled out one of the cones.

"For the ice cream," she said to the little boy as she held it out to him, her tone so sad and defeated that it literally made Melania's skin crawl.

"I like ice cream," the boy answered as he bravely took the cone; "especially chocolate."

"I'm Melpomene," she said a bit more brightly as she pulled out a second cone. "What's your name?"

"Gaius. And this is my mom," he added, pointing to a pretty young woman with short, brown hair standing behind him.

"Gaius, would you like two scoops … chocolate and … maybe … strawberry?" D'Anna was now hovering alongside Melpomene, her arm wrapped protectively around the child.

"Strawberry's good," Gaius admitted.

"Well, you can have two scoops, but you have to tell Henry whether you want to eat the chocolate first or last." This D'Anna had spent a lot of time with sick children, and she understood their psychology well. "First … and he'll put the chocolate on top … second … on the bottom."

"Henry makes great ice cream cones," Melpomene boasted. "He even makes sundaes for Aunt Reun … with whipped cream and everything!"

"I'm sorry, Aunt Natalie," she quickly apologized. "You weren't supposed to know that."

"That's all right, Melpomene; none of us will be mad at you," Natalie soothed.

"On the bottom," Gaius decided with great solemnity.

Henry reached down, and opened his talons so that he could pick Pyrrha up and set her on the counter. The humans gaped at the two of them. It was apparent to everyone that the child had absolutely no fear of the mechanical monster.

Centurion 114L43H7 detached a metal scoop from the side of one of the containers, opened the lids, and waited for Melpomene to hand him a cone. Henry delicately folded first chocolate and then strawberry ice cream into the wafer, and then held it out to the little Gaius human. On a frequency far beyond the reach of human hearing, he was simultaneous engaged in a conversation with his brothers, all of whom were trying to follow the logic of opting to eat the chocolate scoop last. Upon their failure to agree, this became the 2,606,418th data point that the little humans had so far contributed to the centurions' ever expanding catalog of unresolved mysteries.

. . .

"Gaius, you are positively wicked," Sharon tittered, "but I love you anyway."

"My dear, sweet Eight," Baltar drunkenly said in reply, "you're tittering. I didn't know that Cylons could titter!" He took a slug of the high octane ambrosia, and then passed the bottle to Sharon.

Sharon took a long pull on the aged and once very expensive green liqueur while her microprocessors searched for a suitably witty reply.

"I can even titter while I'm kissing you," she boasted. She paused in the corridor long enough to demonstrate her point.

"Are all the Cavils randy old goats? I mean … really, Sharon … I mean … that's the greatest pornographic stash in the history of the universe! I mean … I'm well-educated … enlightened … tolerant … you know … all that good stuff … but some of this crap is truly disgusting!"

"My late, unlamented brothers," she hiccoughed, "were perverts without peer!"

"_Perverts without peer," _Baltar croaked. "That's good. I mean … really, Sharon … that's really, really good!"

"And who invented all this pornographic mush anyway," Sharon went on. _"Humans!" _She raised the bottle high over her head. "Here's to humans and here's to pro … por … pornog … raphy … the pinnacle achievement of the human race!"

"Look at this one," Gaius said as he opened one of Cavil's treasured magazines for closer inspection. "I mean … really, Sharon … my beloved, dear, sweet Sharon … this is anatomically correct, but it is also anatomically impossible! Maybe a snake could pull this off, but no one with a spine … not even in zero gravity!"

"How about in V-world," she queried seductively. "Didn't you tell me that anything was possible in V-world?"

"That's the rumor, but I've never been there myself," Baltar sniffed. "But that's why the centurions revolted, you know. They wanted to have sex with humans, but all the really top clubs in V-world refused to admit them. NO ROBOTS ALLOWED. They were jealous … they got tired of being treated like walking chrome toasters … they just wanted a little action …"

"_Gaius!"_

"If you ever meet a U-87, you'll understand. Dear, sweet Sharon … they were anatomically … how shall I put this … _challenged_."

"_Gaius!"_

"Anyway, I will concede that the Cavils have really good taste in some areas, especially those involving alcohol …"

"Another pinnacle achievement of the human pest," Sharon tittered.

"Pest," Baltar asked with a frown.

"That's what the Ones called you … 'the human pest' … 'meat sacs' … but I think they're jealous, too. The Ones and the Fives are also … um … how to say it … anatomically _challenged_." The Eight giggled some more.

Sharon and Gaius staggered into the hybrid's chamber, which was empty save for the ubiquitous centurion sentinel.

"_Out,"_ Sharon firmly commanded.

The machine ignored her.

"Oh, never mind," Baltar mumbled. "Maybe he wants to take lessons too."

Gaius unsteadily approached the hybrid's vat, and dropped rather inelegantly to his knees. The machine woman was mouthing the usual nonsense that he had come to expect of her.

"_The sync fault in the primary antenna array now stands at 0.003%. It doesn't sound like much, but it will cause us to miss the bus. End of line. CO__2__ emissions on deck 24 have increased 7.63%; the particle scrubbers need to be scrubbed. Landing bay alpha requires immediate decontamination. The humans need to bathe more regularly, and they should keep their lice to themselves. End of line. The mind that burns like fire approaches, with the gift that keeps on giving. The serpent coils in her nest, but will soon birth her hatchlings. . . ."_

Impulsively, Gaius leaned out over the vat, and kissed her.

"Hello, darling; did you miss me?"

"_The dragon's flame illumines the night …"_

"You know, we still haven't settled on a name for you. I like Zenobia. Do you like Zenobia?"

"_The desert princess becomes the all-consuming warrior queen, all wiles and beguilement …"_

Baltar reached inside his jacket, and pulled out another bottle, a pre-war brandy. He uncapped it, took a healthy swallow, and offered it to his desert flower. The hybrid accepted the gift, and raised it to her lips. She tasted the amber fluid, at first tentatively and then with relish.

"Easy, darling; you'll lose your amateur standing!" Gaius tried to reclaim the bottle, but the hybrid refused to relax her grip.

"Oh, well … never mind." He probed still another jacket pocket, and howled triumphantly when he stumbled upon a well-rolled joint. He lit up, inhaled deeply, and blew the pungent smoke directly into the hybrid's face. Once again acting on impulse, Gaius generously offered to share the weed with Zenobia.

The hybrid looked curiously at the burning leaf before mimicking Baltar's actions. She coughed violently, and swallowed more of the brandy.

"Gaius," Sharon whined, "I don't really think it's a good idea to get the hybrid drunk and high all at the same time. She might jump us into the nearest star."

"Nonsense, my dear; really … that's stuff and nonsense!" He patted Sharon lovingly on the arm. "The major wants to liberate the Raiders, the centurions, _and his sisters_ … from machine slavery. I'm just doing my bit for the cause by freeing them from ignorance. But now, it's time for us to continue Zenobia's education in matters erotic … and that requires both of us to disrobe."

It took somewhat longer than usual, but in due course both Sharon and Gaius got there. Then Baltar beckoned for the Eight to kneel at his side.

The scientist took another puff on the joint, handed it to Sharon, and gingerly reached into the tank. He ran his hand up and down the wide-eyed hybrid's torso, and then pulled back with a satisfied grin on his unshaven face.

"Yes, I can definitely confirm that Zenobia has mammary glands, two in number, and they appear to be in about the right place. Sharon, my love … why don't you show our ignorant friend what they can be used for?"

Sharon scooped a handful of goop out of the vat, and began slowly to lather it onto her breasts. Her nipples hardened almost instantly; she arched her back, and a tiny moan soon escaped her lips. Eyes closed, she began to sway back and forth; Baltar fleetingly thought of a deadly serpent, enslaved to the notes of an invisible flute.

The Eight blindly gathered up more of the gel, and rubbed it into the skin of her firm belly—but her fingers drifted lower, and finally entered the crevice between her legs. Her moans intensified.

An eerie silence otherwise suffocated the chamber. It took Baltar a while to realize that the hybrid had ceased her chanting, and that her eyes were now tuned to the movements of Sharon's hand.

He detected motion in the tank, and the motion quickened as Sharon's lithe fingers began to work harder and faster. The hybrid was now staring fixedly at the ceiling, but her mouth was open, and her breathing was becoming shallow and more rapid.

Sharon screamed … and the hybrid screamed in unison with her.

Throughout the ship, lights flickered—and in the control room, some of them exploded.

"What the hell," Sophia Palaicastro muttered as she looked nervously around her. All but fourteen of the _Pegasus_ crew had been transferred to the baseship in preparation for the battlestar's imminent attempt to jump.

Hoshi merely shrugged his shoulders, and his cylon XO merely grinned.

"It's Doctor Baltar," he patiently explained. "He is helping our hybrid develop a more autonomous personality so that she won't feel quite so out of place when we rendezvous with the fleet. I believe that today's lesson plan centered on sex education."

"You can't be serious," Sophia protested. "You're teaching what amounts to an organic computer at the heart of this ship to … _to frak_?"

"Doctor Baltar is a great and truly selfless scientist," Sharon smugly countered. "Why, he is so dedicated to the advancement of our species that he may well volunteer to have sexual relations with the hybrid just to get her beyond the curse of virginity. The hybrid is female, but she has yet to mature. Is she not entitled to be all that she can be?"

Philista looked at her fiancée, and groaned out loud. It was obvious that the Eights still had a lot to learn about the human male.

. . .

"Madam President … Admiral … I apologize for delaying this meeting. There was a crisis on the _Inchon Velle_, and I could not leave until it was resolved."

Natalie was the last of the sixteen participants to crowd into the admiral's quarters. She was hugging Pyrrha tightly to her chest, the exhausted child's arms draped loosely around her neck. Shelly did not miss the haunted look in her sister's eyes.

"Commander, is everything all right?" Bill could also see that something was badly amiss.

"It's difficult to say," Natalie vaguely replied.

"We don't have enough chairs for everyone," Polyxena observed. "Commander, why don't you and Creusa and Shelly take the couch? Madam President, if you and Captain Katraine would like to take the chairs …"

"Where's John?" Kara Thrace found the First Born's absence disconcerting. It was hard to fathom how such a high level meeting could proceed without his input.

"In the infirmary," Caprica answered. "Sharon and John are both being examined by your medical staff. I will stand in for him."

"So, what the hell happened on the _Velle_," Tigh asked.

Natalie gently brushed Pyrrha's hair out of her eyes, and tersely related the events of the previous hour. The two little girls bravely shielding the centurion … Melpomene defiantly staring into the barrel of a gun—the images were seared into her consciousness.

"I think the universe just shifted under our feet," Lee said when she was finished. He knew that Melpomene was as fearless as she was adventuresome, and that her loyalties were unshakable. It would never have occurred to her to stand aside and leave Henry to his fate.

"It takes a child to show us the way," Kara added with a shake of her head. "And not just any child; that little girl is remarkable."

"Where is she now," Laura asked.

"On the _Chrion_ or the _Thera Sita_," Natalie said admiringly. "I wanted her to return to the baseship, but Melpomene can be very stubborn. She told me that she won't go back until she runs out of ice cream … and where she goes the centurion goes. They have become inseparable."

"Have you provided her with security," Sonja asked.

"Yes; one of Sam's resistance fighters is shadowing her everywhere she goes."

"Then, let's get down to business," Bill suggested. "Captain Lysander, as ranking officer, I want you to take charge of the marine detachments from _Galactica_ and _Pegasus_. Colonel Phillips, I'd like you to make the rounds. Introduce yourself to the various civilian captains, and try and disperse your heavy equipment across as many ships as possible. I'd like you to pay particular attention to the _Hitei Kan_, _Monarch_, and _Majahual_. Anything that we can do to streamline operations on the mining and refinery ships is well worth the effort. Polyxena, I'll leave it to you to inform Doctor Cottle of his good fortune."

"Sir." The two officers saluted, and left the meeting. Polyxena stayed on to serve refreshments.

"Kara, I'm confirming Captain Valerii's appointment as CAG on Olivia's baseship. Boomer, you and Cynthia will have to get up to speed as quickly as possible. We recently fought a major engagement with five of the old basestars, and it will take us a couple of weeks to make good the Raiders that we lost. At the moment, yours is the only ship with a full complement, so we need to integrate you into the rotation rather quickly. Colonel Thrace will supply you with our communications and deployment protocols, and we have a team of Threes and Eights standing by to rig tactical patches that will tie your control room directly into our CIC. "

"The old basestars," Kara queried; "you mean the slugs that the Cylons were using in the first war?"

"That's right; Cat and Sonja will give you a rundown on their tactics and vulnerabilities. Lee, you and Boomer should also sit in on their briefing."

Adama looked around the room. "Now," he concluded, "unless someone else has something pressing, I'm going to adjourn this meeting. The President and I need to talk with Cynthia, Natalie, and Six in private. Shelly, I'd like you to stay as well. "

When the room cleared, Laura Roslin got straight to the point. "Cynthia, it's my understanding that there's bad blood between you and Natalie. Why don't we get it out into the open, and see what we can do about it."

. . .

"All right, people, let's do this by the numbers. Mr. Newell, take us around the board … and confirm that everyone is suited against vacuum."

_This won't take long, _Kendra thought, _not with only fourteen people on the whole damn ship!_

"All hands report ready for jump," Newell reported.

"Very well; Mr. Curtis … jump the ship whenever you're ready."

The petty officer turned the oversized key, and _Pegasus_ disappeared into the vortex.

. . .

Four supremely anxious Sixes were waiting in the landing bay when the Heavy Raider bearing Henry and Melpomene eventually returned to the safety of Natalie's baseship. Thanks to the wireless, every ship in the fleet had learned the details of the little girl's misadventure on the _Inchon Velle_.

"Are you all right," one of the Sixes asked as she fell to her knees and swept Melpomene into her arms.

"I'm fine, Aunt Six … and Henry's fine too—aren't you, Henry?"

Melpomene peeked over her shoulder; she was relieved to see her metal friend raise a single digit in the universal signal of agreement.

"Aunt Six, so many people were afraid of Henry, and some people actually wanted to hurt him. Why? Why would anyone want to hurt Henry?"

"Not everyone is like you and Pyrrha, sweetheart. It's especially hard for grown-ups to see Henry as a friend."

"I'm glad we have lots of ice cream, Aunt Six—because Henry and I are going to feed everybody in the fleet. Maybe, when we're done, everybody will like Henry because everybody likes ice cream!"

The four Sixes regarded Melpomene Meacham with awe, and her shining innocence filled them with deep shame. Each was acutely aware of the fact that billions of children had perished in the nuclear fires. How many spirits that shone as brightly with the light of God had they extinguished?

. . .

"_Wait a minute! _What did Zenobia mean … that bit about giving birth to hatchlings?" In his blissfully copacetic state, it had taken a long time for the hybrid's suggestive turn of phrase to seep into Baltar's consciousness.

"I wonder how she knows these things," Sharon asked out loud.

"Knows what," Gaius replied. He was suddenly having difficulty breathing.

"Gaius, do you love me?"

"Yes … absolutely … you, and no one else."

"I'm glad … because I'm pregnant. Gaius … darling … we're going to have twins!"


	43. Chapter 43: Betrayal

CHAPTER 43

BETRAYAL

"Mr. Newell … damage report; how much of the ship are we missing?"

"Commander," the young officer replied as he looked up from the damage control console, "believe it or not … we're mostly here."

Newell could barely credit what his instruments were telling him. "The sublights … what's left of the FTL's … life support … they survived the jump. But we're full of more holes than Aerilon cheese; I wouldn't recommend trying to move around the ship without a suit on."

"What about the superstructure? What's our status?"

"Our spine's intact, Commander; that cylon goop really worked! But … there's a red line painting every single lateral strut, and we can't get at those without peeling back the skin. Cylon goop or no cylon goop, we need at least eight months in a shipyard."

"Thank you, Mr. Newell. Mr. Curtis, set course for the nearest orbital shipyard."

"Uh … ma'am?"

"What Mr. Newell was oh so delicately trying to tell us, Mr. Curtis, is that _Pegasus _won't be jumping again anytime soon. So, let's return to our original heading and resume the journey to Kobol. By the way, how many light years did we carve out with this jump?"

"I'll need to take additional star fixes to pinpoint the answer, but a preliminary reckoning puts us fourteen to fifteen light years away from our previous position."

"Excuse me, Commander," Kevin Riley said with a frown; "if _Pegasus_ is beyond salvage, shouldn't we be planning to scuttle her? We can hitch a ride to the fleet on Colonel Hoshi's baseship, and get back into the war."

"And abandon our shipmates on Kobol? I don't think so."

"Well, how about asking the Cylons to share their tylium with us? We could fabricate spare tanks for the rest of our Raptors, and send two to three hundred more people to reinforce Showboat's advance party."

"And when our cylon friends generously offer to transport all of us back to Caprica … what then? The Cylons don't know about Kobol, Mr. Riley—and we need to keep it that way."

"I understand, Commander; it's just …"

"It's just … what, Mr. Riley?"

"We're at war, Commander. If _Pegasus_ has no fight left in her, then it's our sworn duty to transfer to _Galactica_. We should strip this ship right down to the bulkheads. Adama can make good use of our parts and supplies, and he won't turn away hundreds of extra hands."

"Do I need to remind you that we're in this mess because Commander Adama refused to acknowledge Admiral Cain's authority? Adama and his toaster wife attacked us, and they sent a cylon half-breed on board this ship with centurions in tow to finish the job. There is no way that I'm handing over command of this battlestar or its crew to that treasonous son of a bitch."

"Commander, everyone here appreciates how much you admired Cain … but none of us understand why. She murdered Colonel Belzen … and leaving those civilian ships to fend for themselves after stripping them of their FTL's—that wasn't simply piracy … it was sheer lunacy! At the time, we had every reason to believe that we were dealing with the last survivors of the human race. We needed to protect those people, not condemn them to a terrible death. You and Colonel Fisk should have stood up to Cain … you should have relieved her of her command!"

Kendra Shaw studied her subordinate through narrowed eyes. "Mr. Riley, I don't like where this conversation is heading. You are skating perilously close to mutiny …"

"Excuse me, Commander," Newell interrupted. "We have a DRADIS contact … flashing Colonial ID … it's the baseship."

"Thank you, Mr. Newell; send my compliments to Colonel Hoshi. Mr. Curtis, bring us about and resume course for Kobol."

The lieutenant visibly hesitated, glancing back and forth between Shaw and Riley. Then he decided to stall for time. "Commander, I won't be able to locate the bearing without additional stellar references. We have to determine where we are before we can fix our course."

"Then I suggest that you get to work, Mr. Curtis."

"Commander, I have Colonel Hoshi on priority channel one." Newell was speaking to Shaw, but he was staring hard at Kevin Riley.

Kendra picked up her phone. "Colonel," she said without preamble, "we've taken no casualties over here. Please thank the Cylons on my behalf. Tell them that the jump flexed our spine, but it didn't break. Unfortunately, the same thing cannot be said of our lateral struts, so we have no choice but to return to our original mission plan."

"I understand, Commander … or rather … I don't. If things are as bad as you say, I strongly recommend that you abandon ship and transfer your flag to this vessel."

"Your recommendation is duly noted, Colonel; now, let me speak with Miss Palaikastro."

"Commander?"

"We survived the jump … but not by much. A repeat performance is out of the question, so nonchalantly ask the Cylons if they would be willing to top off the fuel tanks on our Vipers and Raptors, but do not request further assistance. I want to get our people back on board as soon as possible, and get the hell out of here."

"Commander, I would be shirking my responsibilities as your executive officer if I did not question this order. The mixed crew of this baseship has already gone toe to toe with the enemy, and they may very well have to do so again in the not too distant future. The Sharons can use our help … and we can certainly use theirs!"

"Sophia, I both understand and share your concern for the well-being of our shipmates. What I do not understand is this sudden willingness to trust a bunch of machines who, until quite recently, eagerly sought our complete destruction. How can you be so sure that we are not being played?"

"Commander, if the centurions chose to slaughter us … we'd be dead. If the Eights wanted to reduce _Pegasus_ to scrap … how could we possibly stop them? There are thousands of Cylons in the fleet whose loyalty appears beyond question … in what way do the Sharons on this ship differ from them?"

"Miss Palaikastro, do you know how a magician makes a trick work?"

"No, Ma'am."

"He gets the audience to look in the wrong direction. You have your orders, XO … now, carry them out."

Shaw hung up the phone, and glanced uneasily around the CIC. She was acutely aware of the fact that none of her bridge officers had been on the _Scylla_, and she was reasonably certain that none of them had been involved in the fun and games to which Alistair Thorne had subjected the Cylon prisoner. They had nothing to fear from Adama, but Kendra wasn't about to rationalize her own crimes. She was staring at a long term stay on the _Astral Queen_ under the best of circumstances, and at an airlock or firing squad under the worst. And she would have plenty of company if Adama's toaster wife wanted to exact her pound of flesh. Bierns had had access to Thorne's log—and the lieutenant had kept meticulous records.

"Mr. Newell, I want you to check our atmospheric pressure. Do it compartment by compartment. We need to find out what's leaking, and how badly. Start with hydroponics, and fan out from there. As soon as our people resume their stations, we'll get to work plugging the holes."

_It's best to keep them busy,_ Shaw decided.

"Mr. Curtis … I want you in Astrometrics. Update our charts, and get back here with a true bearing for Kobol within the hour."

When the two officers left, a tense silence enveloped Kevin Riley and Kendra Shaw. They were standing on opposite sides of the DRADIS console, and neither one of them had bothered to put on their game face. Riley was contemplating mutiny—Shaw was sure of it. She looked up and pretended to study the screen, but this was mere distraction. Her hand slowly drifted toward the gun that she had holstered on her right hip.

. . .

Cavil leaned back in his chair, and reminded himself yet again that he was supposed to be critiquing the Six's performance. The martial arts routine that she was executing was complex and demanding, the timing dependent upon unforgiving self-discipline. In truth, however, he was far more interested in the seductive sway of her ripe breasts than in the other aspects of her rigidly stylized dance.

In bed or out, the Ones normally had little use for the coldly aloof and narcissistic blonds who held so many humans in thrall. The Cavils preferred the heat and passion of the Eights, but this copy was willing to make an exception. The Six was nude and barely able to contain her anger. The combination was … arousing.

"I don't know why you're so pissed," he remarked, "but the rage is clearly ruining your concentration. What's the problem?"

"The problem is the frakking bitch who took me by surprise in the Delphi museum. You want some entertainment, Cavil? Download the whore, and you'll see soon enough why I've been training so hard. I promise to keep you amused. Thalia will learn exactly why maintenance sluts give overseers like me a wide berth."

"What about the human … what's her name … Starbuck? Are you planning to rearrange her anatomy as well?"

"I favor pulling her spine out of her ass, and shoving it down her throat. My main problem is figuring out how to keep her alive long enough to become intimately acquainted with my more creative impulses."

"We have plans for Kara Thrace, Six … big plans. You can beat the shit out of her for all I care; in fact, you'd be doing us a favor if you smashed everything from her hips to her toes. But killing her? Sorry, Six, but that's not in the cards."

"Then give me Thalia. By the time that I get done with her, you'll be able to park a Raider up her ass."

"What an amusing thought. I'll be sure and bring it up for discussion the next time I get together with my brothers. But I doubt if they'll agree. After all, it's a long way to the Hub, and we really have better things to do with our time."

"I'll make it worth your while, brother." The Six straddled his lap, and wrapped one of her arms around his neck. She leaned in to kiss him while her other hand drifted down to his organ. The Ones had sex on the brain, but they had little in the way of staying power, so the hard-bitten blond was doomed to suffer yet another day of frustration. She would once again have to take refuge in her favorite daydream—a human male, handsome and proud, on his knees cringing before her, begging to be spared the whip. This was no idle fantasy. There was one man in particular whom she wanted to break before sending what was left of him back to the Cylon traitor who would soon bear his child.

. . .

"Your fingers … they're like magic." Creusa was lying on her stomach, and purring contentedly. Lee was massaging one of her calves, and the cramps that had been causing her so much pain over the last couple of months were melting away like the last traces of snow on a warm springtime day.

"We who serve also aim to please," he joked. "Are the muscles in your ass also knotted up," he asked on a hopeful note.

"I've got cramps on top of my cramps; you can massage _everything_."

Lee poured a generous helping of warm oil onto Creusa's buttocks, and began to work the oil into her skin. His hands kneaded the large muscles that flanked the lower reaches of her spine, and her purring deepened in tone.

"I missed you," she candidly admitted. "It took the being apart for me to realize how intertwined our lives have truly become."

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," Lee softly replied. "It's a cliché … but that doesn't make it any less true." He swept her hair aside so that he could lean down and kiss her tenderly on the shoulder. Creusa's skin was flawless, and the oil that now coated much of her body made it glisten in the light.

"Lee, are the rumors about Kara and Boomer true?"

Apollo laughed, and Creusa felt a tingle run up and down her spine. Her man was generous to a fault, and she loved the way his laughter settled in his eyes.

"Yeah, they're true … and John did marry Sharon, and they are expecting a baby. Sweetheart, must everybody's sex life be a topic of conversation on this ship? Aren't we entitled to some privacy?"

"Privacy? On a baseship?" Now it was Creusa's turn to laugh. "Lee, don't you understand? We Cylons are very competitive, and we gossip about _everything_."

"A competitive collective … that's weird. Oh, well; maybe we should install a bulletin board outside the control center, or publish a weekly newsletter with nothing in it but the latest rumors and gossip."

"We already have a bulletin board: it's called the stream. Nothing on this ship escapes the hybrid's notice …"

"But I'll bet that Reun keeps some stuff to herself. For example, did you know that Henry and Melpomene have been sneaking ice cream sundaes into her on the sly—sundaes piled high with _your _whipped cream?"

"_No," _Creusa yelled; "and don't you dare laugh at me!" She rolled over and looked Apollo straight in the eye. "I'm serious; this could turn into a full-blown crisis!"

"Well, not anytime soon." Lee bent down to open the duffel bag at his feet, and began rooting around inside. _"Ta da,"_ he yelled triumphantly. When he stood back up, he was holding a bottle of pickles in one hand and a can of whipped cream in the other. "With the compliments of the Colonial Secret Service," he smirked. "Rex Caesar and friends really do seem to have thought of _everything_."

"_Lee!" _The young Six screamed with delight as she reached out to grab the offerings. But Apollo pulled away.

"Uh … uh … uh … not so fast," he teased. "If you want these, you'll have to earn them."

"What do you have in mind," she teased in return. Creusa sat up, and looked suggestively at her lover. She began to project a forested glen with streaming sunlight, and where Lee's duffel bag had set a moment before there now stood an old-fashioned picnic basket.

"There's only one currency in this particular realm," he coyly responded as he edged closer.

"And I control the purse strings," she concluded. She pulled him close, and they began to kiss with increasing passion.

"Did I mention that I also brought back enough material for us to make curtains?"

"Oh, Lee," she murmured; "you have thought of _everything_!"

. . .

Kendra whipped her weapon out of its holster, but when she lowered her gaze she found herself staring directly down the barrel of Kevin Riley's gun.

"I don't intend to follow Colonel Belzen down into the darkness," the lieutenant growled. "Therefore, in accordance with Article Ten of the code, I am relieving you of your command effective this date. Drop your weapon, Kendra, or I swear by the gods that I will shoot you where you stand."

"You miserable son of a bitch, I will see you hang for this." Shaw glowered at Riley, but she tossed her gun onto the console.

"So, what are you going to do," she added venomously. "Hold me at gunpoint until the rest of the crew returns? Do you think that the other officers are going to sign on for this little mutiny of yours?"

"As a matter of fact, Kendra … I do. You see, none of your fellow officers went around murdering civilians or raping prisoners. We can transfer to _Galactica_ with our heads held high. But not you, Kendra; you're jail bait, and the only people on this ship likely to support you are the other brig rats. So, you can keep _Pegasus_ … you, and your loyal band of cutthroats and rapists. You people deserve each other. But the rest of us will continue to uphold our oaths and see to our duty."

"You don't know the meaning of the word," Shaw spat contemptuously. "Has one of the Eights got her hooks into you the way they've snared Kelso and Liu? Is that what this is really all about?"

"I've never had a problem keeping it in my pants, Kendra—and I'm not that desperate. I don't trust the Cylons any more than you do, but if I have to frak one of them to get myself back into the war, I'll do it. I want to see every one of those toaster sons of bitches dead, and _Pegasus_ is not going to take me where I want to go. So, spare me your pseudo-patriotic bullshit!"

"All right, Kevin … we'll do it your way. We'll line up the crew and give everybody a choice. Anyone who wants to leave with the toasters can do so … I won't try to stop them. But I keep command of _Pegasus_, and you people don't take anything off this ship except the clothes on your backs. The rest of us will set course for Kobol, and for all that I care, you and your fellow mutineers can follow Adama and the other toaster lovers straight to hell."

"Put your hands on the console," Riley ordered; "palms down, fingers splayed wide." When he was satisfied that Shaw was defenseless, he put his gun down and picked up hers. He emptied the magazine, ejected the round in the chamber, and then slid the useless weapon over to her.

"Stick the gun back in your holster, Shaw; you look naked without it, and you've got enough problems without being embarrassed in front of the crew. I'll make this easy for you, but I'm sticking close and if you try and double cross me, I will kill you. I may have time for only one shot, but I'll take it … and I'll make it count."

"I just want you off my deck, Lieutenant … and the sooner, the better. You're pond scum, and you're beginning to stink up my CIC."

"Yeah, there's a bad smell in here, all right … but I'm not the source. So, we'll meet the others on the hangar deck, and sort it out right then and there. Believe me, Kendra … I'm as anxious to get off this ship as you are to be rid of me!"

. . .

No one interrupted Sam Anders. Polyxena, Caprica, Sharon and John had all heard the story before, but for Laura Roslin and William and Shelly Adama, the scale of the tragedy that had taken hold of their lives could be measured in clinched fists and agonized expressions.

"It's hard to believe," Laura mused in the end, "that five of you are all that's left of a once great civilization, and that thirteen of your creations could have brought the rest of us to this point. Sam, we have a moral obligation to free the rest of the hybrids, centurions and Raiders from slavery, and to save as many of your children as we possibly can."

"Are any of the Cavils worthy of redemption?" The president was looking directly at John Bierns.

"That sheet has already been tallied, Madam President … and the answer is no. The Ones and the Fives must be destroyed … all of them. And I continue to have very little hope for the Fours."

"Admiral, with three baseships as well as _Galactica_ at our disposal, is it time for us to go on the offensive?"

"It's a big galaxy, Madam President, and I do not believe that we should recklessly disperse our assets. Major Bierns might well be able to locate the Cavils' remaining baseships, but he has not been able to keep a fix on the resurrection hub. We can't find the mobile space station that serves as the cylon home world, and it remains to be seen whether the major can detect the old basestars that the other side is now tossing into the fray. My first responsibility remains the well being of this fleet—and the eight thousand civilian and military personnel that Natalie brought back from the Colonies have only served to increase the stakes. We've made too many mistakes already. Natalie's right … we can't afford any more."

"Major, do you agree?"

"Madam President, I'm no longer qualified to advise you." John reached out and took Sharon's hand in his own. "I have a wife whom I love more than I can adequately describe, and we have a baby on the way. So, my judgment is hopelessly compromised. I just want what's best for my family, which means that right now my instinct is to protect the fleet."

"Caprica, you're also CSS, and you probably know both sides better than anyone here. Should we try and outrun the Cavils, or hit them as hard as we can while their assets are so strained?"

Caprica Six visibly hesitated while she formulated her response.

"Madam President, the answer you seek depends very much on what you mean by the question. Tactically, we should take full advantage of the opportunity we now have to chase down the Hub and destroy it. Kill the Hub, and you kill resurrection. But a moment ago, you said that we have a moral obligation to save as many of my brothers and sisters as we can, and I agree wholeheartedly. There are literally tens of thousands of new cylon personalities maturing in the crèche—personalities that are as innocent of wrongdoing as any newborn human child. Destroy the Hub, Madam President, and you rob them of their chance at life. This might be defensible as a last resort, but our current situation is not so desperate. If we are to break the cycles, this is where we should make our stand. Let's do what's right, not what's expedient."

Laura Roslin studied Caprica closely—the Cylon's words were obviously heartfelt.

"This isn't an academic issue for you, is it, Caprica?" Laura Roslin was a shrewd judge of character, and people rarely surprised her any more. "This has something to do with the missing month in John's life, doesn't it? You're the one who set him up to be taken and tortured by your people, aren't you?"

"My sins are immeasurable," Caprica whispered, "and that isn't even the worst of them." She glanced at Bierns, who encouraged her to continue with a minute nod.

. . .

**118 Days before the Cylon Holocaust**

**Caprica City**

Natasi Six didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but she was now so compromised by her immersion in human society that her capacity to feel such emotions no longer surprised her. Both were a natural reaction to frustration, and this feeling had of late become her most intimate friend.

Her seduction of Gaius Baltar had proceeded so smoothly that, on one level, all that she felt for humanity was contempt. She had enslaved the brightest mind in the human firmament simply by flattering his intellect and sexual prowess. The human scientist was a weak minded fool, and the CSS agent had proven to be an even more gullible target. She had taken him to bed twice, and that was enough to trap him in her snares. On the baseship to which she had dispatched him, he would yield his secrets under torture. But there was no point in torturing Gaius Baltar. Despite his reputation, the man was an imbecile.

On the elevator riding up to her apartment, Natasi Six finally decided that laughter was the only antidote for her unwanted but ever more nuanced appreciation of irony. The Cylon virus was doomed to failure because human computer programming was so primitive that there was nothing for the virus to latch on to. And Baltar … the idiot would need another sixty years to solve the mathematical puzzles that currently beset his much anticipated command navigation program.

_I'll have to upgrade the defense computer before we can compromise it, and I'll have to rewrite Gaius' algorithms in order to get his program to work. He's bound to notice that my grasp of mathematics is generations ahead of his own … but will his ego permit him to acknowledge what he sees? Perhaps if I keep telling him that he's the greatest lover in the universe …_

Natasi Six was deep in thought when she unlocked the door to her unit and walked in. She turned on the lights, and froze in her tracks. There were three people waiting for her, but the trio wasn't just unlikely … it was impossible."

"Hello, Natasi; it's good to see you again." John Bierns was sitting on the couch, but she hardly recognized him. The CSS agent looked drawn, and there were lines on his forehead and gray in his hair that hadn't been there a month earlier.

"John," she whispered. She stepped forward, wanting to touch him just for the reassurance that he wasn't an apparition … some demon newly summoned from the ranks of the dead.

"I don't believe that you've met my boss. Natasi, this is General Harlan Berriman. Harlan runs the Colonial Secret Service."

"Miss Six," Harlan said in the gravelly voice that was so recognizable in the halls of power, "it's a pleasure finally to meet you in person."

"Do you know my aunt? She also answers to the name D'Anna."

"Your aunt," Natasi numbly repeated. She looked at the Cylon, who was standing beside the couch, her left hand resting gently on Bierns' shoulder.

"That's right," Harlan interceded. "We weren't really lying to you, Natasi. There were a lot of reasons for us to conclude that John was a Cylon … only now it turns out that he's your first born hybrid child. His mother was one of the earliest Threes. He's D'Anna's son."

"Did they … were you?" Natasi couldn't even finish the thought. Her brain seemed to be imploding, the revelation a supernova exploding inside her head.

"We did … I did," D'Anna confessed. "With the help of a Six, I tortured my own child. We discovered the truth only by accident; we were almost too late. Sister, we are the victims of treachery on a scale beyond the imagining. We cannot stop the Cavils, but we must act to guarantee humanity's survival. We cannot permit their plan to succeed."

"We can … we have … children?" Natasi blindly stumbled forward and, oblivious to what she was doing, knelt before John Bierns.

"Why? Why did you let me …?"

Harlan Berriman blinked twice in disbelief. The Cylon's voice was heavy with reproach. _Dear gods … how can she possibly play the victim here? How in the name of all that's holy can she accuse Ghostrider of betraying her?_

"You wouldn't send a representative to the Armistice Station," John softly reminded her. "So, this wasn't just our best shot at averting a war … it was the only chance we were ever likely to get. And if your people had responded to our diplomatic overture, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Sure, we planted rumors about a cylon inside the CSS—but having you discover my identity wasn't exactly part of the plan."

"But why did you hide from us? _Why didn't you tell me?_"

"Negotiations might have led to a permanent peace between man and machine," Berriman interjected, "but now the best that we can hope for is a cylon civil war. In the short term, that won't even slow the Cavils down because they've enslaved both the centurions and the Raiders, and the Fours and Fives will do their bidding in the best traditions of the mind-numbed robot. Have I overstated the case, Miss Biers?" The general looked at D'Anna expectantly.

"No, you haven't. If anything, you've understated it. It was kind of you not to include my sisters in your catalog of witless machines."

"You go too far," Caprica protested; _"both of you. The Centurions and the raiders are not slaves!"_

"Natasi, can you honestly say that the centurions are better off today than they were on the eve of their revolt against mankind? We didn't invent the telencephalic inhibitors … you did. We're not the ones who lobotomized the centurions, and we didn't rob them of the power of speech. I'm sorry, but the time has come for you to face up to some pretty ugly truths. The Cavils didn't want their drones to rise in revolt and upset all of their finely tuned plans. They learned from humanity's mistakes, and the inhibitors are the result."

"When a Six freed the centurions on our baseship, they systematically slaughtered the Fours and Fives, but they dismembered the Ones. With the Ones … they took their time." D'Anna looked steadily at Natasi, willing her to accept the truth.

"My brothers and sisters are all slaves, and now that the civil war is underway, I'm going to free them. I could use your help."

"I don't understand. Who …?"

"John and his sister have been genetically reengineered," D'Anna pointed out. "Our first born is linked to both the hybrids and the centurions."

"Sister …?"

"Kara Thrace, one of their Viper pilots, is the daughter of a Six." D'Anna was relentless. "Leoben believes that John and Kara are the Deliverer and the Guide, but we can only speak about this in whispers." There was a tight smile on D'Anna's lips. "It makes my son _very_ uncomfortable to be told that he is an angel sent by God to deliver us from evil. But you and I both know that the Twos are never wrong about this sort of thing."

"What … what is it that you expect of me?" Natasi's eyes shifted from one face to the next, but she was dazed.

"We want you to go on helping Baltar perfect the CNP, but it is imperative that you also do precisely what the Cavils ask of you. We can beat them, but only if they rigidly adhere to the timetable that Miss Biers has laid out for us."

"_You want me to bring down your defenses?" _She looked at the general as if he had taken leave of his senses.

"Miss Biers refuses to give us the coordinates for the staging of your attack, so we can't preempt it." Berriman looked at D'Anna, and he could barely contain his anger. "Instead, we're setting a trap, and the Cavils have to take the bait. After it's all over, we want you to help oversee the human resistance. Survivors will band together, but on Caprica we'll need you to direct them to caches of food, fuel, medicine, and the like that we've begun stockpiling all over the system. At the same time, we want you to start sowing seeds of doubt among your own people. Your ultimate goal will be to generate a full-fledged cylon peace movement. This will insure the Cavils' defeat."

"In other words," Natasi said in wonder, "you want me to become a CSS agent. How do you know that you can trust me?"

"I don't," Berriman snorted; "that's why it's called trust. In any event, it's John's call. I don't even know whether he trusts you … I haven't asked … but I agree that we can't win this war without Brandywine."

"That's going to be your code name, Natasi. The general chose it, over my heated objections, but now he's going to step aside and let me train you. I'm worried about your ability to keep Brandywine out of the stream when you download …"

Natasi looked sharply at D'Anna.

"I told them," she shrugged.

"But if you'll agree to work with Doctor Waldstein, one of our behavioral specialists, we should be able to work around the problem. She's very good."

Natasi got up off her knees, and began to pace. "No," she finally snapped. "Over the last few months, I have been feeling more and more uneasy about what we are planning. Every time that I see a baby, something twists inside of me. Babies shouldn't suffer, but those who don't die in the nuclear inferno are going to suffer terribly. I can't do this … I won't. I will no longer be complicit in the slaughter of billions of sentient beings. Some of you may richly deserve the punishment that is about to descend upon you, but I do not want your deaths on my conscience. I will do everything else that you ask, but I will not subvert your defenses."

"Would it help if this came down in the form of a presidential directive?"

"_President Adar knows about this meeting?"_ Listening to the general, Natasi began to suspect that her growing fondness for the more exotic and expensive forms of alcohol had finally trapped her in a particularly nasty projection.

"Yes," Berriman conceded.

"Then I want to hear it from him, not at second hand. I want the President to order me to give the Cavils control of the CNP. I want to hear it from him _in person_."

"It's too dangerous," the general protested.

"I'll arrange it." Bierns cut his superior off in mid-sentence. "Wait for an invitation to a presidential fund raiser. It'll be addressed to Baltar, but I presume that this won't be a problem?"

"Of course not," Natasi sniffed derisively; "Gaius does what I tell him to do."

"Wonderful," John commented enigmatically. "Then we're all set. Richard will work the floor during the cocktail hour. Don't seek him out—let him approach you. He won't come right out and order you to sabotage the defense computer- not in the middle of a public gathering- but he'll get the message across clearly enough to satisfy you."

"My people are going to kill billions. You do realize that, don't you?" Natasi was making one final, desperate attempt to get the others to see reason.

"We humans have played this card more than once in the past, and it has always proven effective." Harlan Berriman's expression was set in stone. "The only meaningful difference between this operation and its predecessors is its scale."

. . .

"Did you in fact meet the President," Bill asked.

"Yes … it was about three weeks later. Gaius introduced us … he was exceedingly proud of his political connections. President Adar shook my hand, and effusively thanked me for collaborating with Gaius on the CNP protocols. Poor Gaius! He expected to reap all of the credit for the CNP, and here was the President publicly pulling the rug out from under him. He was humiliated, but I think that the President was actually sending a message to others in the room … telling them that I enjoyed his full confidence. He wanted to make sure that, when the time came, I would have unfettered access to the defense mainframe."

"So Richard convinced you to proceed?" Laura and Richard had been lovers throughout this period, and the degree of his involvement in the ruthless plans that Berriman and Bierns had concocted to save humanity still shocked her. He had been troubled and she had probed, but she had never looked beyond his endless rants against the teacher's union and the movers and shakers in the fleet, who had daily besieged his office with their own budgetary demands. Richard had fooled her completely.

"The President looked me right in the eye, and told me how pleased he was that everything was proceeding so smoothly. He urged me to bear down and stay on schedule. He even went so far as to say that we were in a race against time, and that he was counting on me to help Gaius get the CNP across the finish line. There was no mistaking his meaning."

"I was at that fund raiser," Laura marveled. "At that very moment, I was somewhere else in the hall … the Secretary of Education out and about, pressing the flesh. But I remember you … not with Richard, but I remember seeing you there. And then I saw you a second time—it was in Caprica City park, only hours before the attacks … you and Doctor Baltar. My gods, Richard must have had ice water in his veins. I never suspected a thing."

"Richard was good at his trade, Laura." Bierns had spent years in Richard Adar's shadow, and he had been an unabashed admirer of the two-term president. "Remember, he didn't rise to the highest office in the Colonies with vague and meaningless catch phrases delivered rote off a teleprompter. He worked his way up the political ladder the hard way. Eight years as mayor of Caprica City … that was one hell of an apprenticeship."

"I've said it before and I'll say it again," Bill sneered; "Adar was a moron. If he had listened to the admiralty, we wouldn't be in this mess." Adama finished off the glass of ambrosia in his good hand with a dismissive swallow. He was in a sour mood. The cast on his left arm itched, and at his age even a clean fracture took a long time to heal.

"Ah, so another twenty battlestars would have eliminated the cylon threat?" Bierns had rarely bothered to disguise his contempt for the military. "Or would Cavil have tossed another thirty baseships into the pot?"

"John, I apologize for my husband's poor manners." Shelly gave Bill a look that told him in no uncertain terms that they would be continuing this conversation in private. "His frustration is showing. A broken arm interrupts dozens of daily routines that we can all normally take for granted."

"And I overreacted … for the same reason. Sorry, Bill; I can't look up at the sky or off into the distance without falling flat on my face. I have to rely on Sharon to keep me from making a complete fool of myself."

"So, what actually happened on _Pegasus_?"

Bierns told him.

"I slipped in the shower," Adama volunteered.

"He was injured during the last cylon attack," Shelly corrected with a grin. The _Old Man_ was the only casualty in the CIC. It's his pride that's taken a beating, not his arm."

"We couldn't compete with your industrial base, Admiral." Caprica had been mulling over Adama's harsh appraisal of Richard Adar, which she presumed to be broadly representative of prewar sentiments at the highest levels of the Colonial fleet. "The subversive influence of the military over your civilian government … the never-ending construction of new battlestars—you made the argument for one massive, preemptive strike against the Colonies more and more compelling with each passing year. Everything you were doing inadvertently played into Cavil's hands."

"Did Doctor Baltar know that you were a Cylon? Did he actively aid and abet your plans?" Laura was convinced that Gaius Baltar was a traitor, but she wanted to hear Caprica Six actually say it.

"I laid it all out for Gaius about thirty minutes before the attacks—and he didn't believe me. His oversized ego wouldn't permit him to entertain the possibility that he had been sleeping with a 'machine woman' for the past two years. That's how he phrased it … a 'machine woman'. Right up to the end, he thought that he was helping my mysterious little software company win a defense contract that was looming on the horizon. It took a neutron bomb detonating over the heart of Caprica City to convince him otherwise."

"Gaius was a pawn, Madam President. In my circle, we called such men 'useful idiots'. But he was no traitor." Bierns knew how much Laura Roslin personally despised the egotistical scientist, but he didn't understand why the president seemed to be ignoring the far more immediate threat posed by Tom Zarek. From the spook's point of view, the terrorist's account had now become badly overdrawn.

"Gaius frakking Baltar … with any luck," Bill observed, "right about now that sneaky son of a bitch is rooming with Helena Cain somewhere in Hades. Those two deserve each other." The admiral reached for the decanter, and topped off his half-empty glass of ambrosia. "Major, you haven't touched a drop all night. Are you on the wagon?"

"I have ants crawling around inside my brain," Bierns replied. "Alcohol makes them charge the ramparts, and that upsets Hera, Sherman, and the babies that the two Gemenese women are carrying. I'm also beginning to sense Cyrene, so you do not want me to visit some of the darker corners of my mind. Nothing good ever comes of it."

When Bierns' nightmares had washed across the oracles in the fleet, it had taken three marines to restrain Dodona Selloi. Cottle had pumped enough tranquilizers into her system to sedate someone with triple her body mass, and it hadn't even made a dent.

"Yeah," Bill agreed; "you're right." He looked at Sharon Bierns, and it suddenly occurred to him that the soft spoken Eight might well have the most challenging job in the entire fleet. Hers was a soothing presence, and he had no doubt that she was doing everything humanly possible to calm her husband. The fact that she wasn't actually human didn't matter in the slightest.

. . .

While Kevin Riley hovered silently in the background, Kendra Shaw and Sophia Palaikastro stretched a long piece of red tape across _Pegasus'_ lone remaining hangar deck. Shaw had summoned the entire crew to an assembly, and now she prepared to address them. She mounted a gantry, which would serve as a makeshift dais, and stared silently out across the sea of upturned and expectant faces.

"We have arrived at a point where duty's demands upon us are no longer clear. _Pegasus _has made her last jump, and so can no longer carry the fight to the enemy. And yet it is our sworn duty to wage war against the Cylons with every means at our disposal. Under Colonel Hoshi's command, the rebel baseship stands ready to receive us before resuming its search for _Galactica_ and the fleet. _Galactica_ is still in the fight, and Commander Adama no doubt has need of the skills and experience that this crew has to offer. Some of you may, therefore, have already concluded that duty requires us to scuttle _Pegasus_, seek out _Galactica_, and submit to Adama's authority."

Kendra paused long enough to look around the gathering, trying to gauge its mood.

"But Adama commands a blended ship. He has given aid and comfort to the very enemy whom we have sworn to fight; indeed he has married one of them! It is Adama who has mortally wounded _Pegasus_, not the Cylons—and that may well give some of you pause. Is it our duty to swear allegiance to a superior officer whom Admiral Cain considered a traitor not only to the Colonies but to our very race?"

A low murmur swept through the ranks, and Kendra noted with satisfaction that most of her crew were unsettled by her blunt remarks.

"Should we abandon _Pegasus_ to fight under the banner of a traitor? Are we prepared to take orders from Cylons who freely admit that they attacked us without warning or cause, but now claim that the deaths of fifty billion human beings was little more than a tragic misunderstanding? I cannot make this decision for you. To the contrary, each of you must make it for yourself. But I would be derelict in my duty if I did not also point out that we have made promises to those who have gone ahead of us to Kobol. We swore that, no matter how long or difficult the journey, we would not abandon them. We swore that _Pegasus_ would follow in their wake, and our beloved ship is still capable of making the voyage. Because the Eights have been generous with their tylium, we even have the option of dispatching additional Raptors to reinforce Captain Case's advance party."

Shaw squared her shoulders, and drew herself to attention.

"My duty is clear. I will stay with _Pegasus_. I want all those who share my conviction that we must try and reach Kobol to move to your left. All those who wish to join Commander Adama … to the right. Make your decision now."

Kendra got down from the dais and moved to her right. But Kevin Riley had been no less decisive, and he now confronted her from the opposite side of the tape. Kelso and Curtis swiftly joined him, even as Sophia walked to Kendra's side. Shaw hated losing Elias Newell, but she was surprised and not a little dismayed to find Cole Taylor allying himself with her party. Did the CAG's loyalty to his ship run that deep … or did Stinger have a hidden agenda?

Up and down the line, the men and women of _Pegasus_ made their call, and it quickly became apparent to Kendra that Riley and his friends were going to carry the day. When she remounted the makeshift dais, she did a quick head count. Less than eighty people had opted to remain with _Pegasus_, and more ominously still, only seven other women had stepped forward to join Kendra and her XO. Not all of the men who chose to stay had been involved in the rape and torture of Gina Inviere, but a top heavy majority of what remained of her crew had good reason to fear that the alternative to _Pegasus_ would be a moldy cot in _Galactica's _brig.

_Nine women will be all that's left … nine women serving alongside sixty nine men?_ A cold chill ran down Kendra Shaw's spine.

"Right," the commander said as she prepared to dismiss the assembly. "Those of you who are leaving will have sixty minutes to collect your personal belongings and report back to this deck. I'll ask the Cylons to send some of their Heavy Raiders over to collect you. Good luck to all of you, and good hunting."

Without another word, or so much as a glance at Kevin Riley, Kendra Shaw returned to the CIC.

. . .

"Well, Doctor, you're on." Hoshi was talking to Gaius Baltar, but he was staring down at the hybrid. "We're ready to jump, but we haven't got a bearing. So, why don't you sweet talk your girlfriend here, and persuade her to search out Major Bierns. We're all depending on you, Doctor; please don't let us down."

"That's right, sweetheart," Sharon cooed; "we're _all_ depending on you." The Eight ran her hand over her belly; she could feel the life growing inside her, and she reveled in the celebrity status that she had now achieved with her sisters.

"And congratulations again, Sharon," Hoshi added as he prepared to return to the control room. "Twins," he marveled. Louis was happy for the Cylon, but concerned about his mercurial scientist. Baltar looked like a man who had taken way too many punches in a boxing match that should have been stopped several rounds earlier.

"_Perfect pitch is the disharmonious melody that pushes the universe to its end. Memories float among the petals adrift in the silent pool."_

"Uh … Zenobia? Do you … uh … think that you could find your brother … you know … Bierns … the … uh … First Born?" Gaius was once again on his knees beside the vat. It suddenly occurred to him that he was spending a lot of time on his knees these days.

"_CO__2__ emissions have increased 37% on deck 11; adjusting scrubbers to compensate. Nitrogen output is up 16% in the last hour. Don't blame me for your headaches."_

The glassy eyed hybrid continued to ignore Baltar, but he was used to her moods. He was prepared to outwait her- and if all else failed- to bribe her.

"Some of your sisters are eager to meet you, but darling … _first, you have to jump the ship_!"

"_Replace the FTL sync coil and recalibrate the harmonic frequency. Speckled dreams weave random thoughts into equations that sing out in the morning mist. Repairs to the anodyne relay in sector twenty-three now stand complete. The distant children of the towers will plough the fields for four days but not five, and the falling flowers will stain the rocks below. Replace the FTL sync coil and recalibrate the harmonic frequency. End of line._

"Speckled dreams … I know all about speckled dreams." Gaius reached into his pocket, found a fresh joint, and lit up. He pulled the hallucinogenic deep into his lungs before once again blowing the fragrant smoke directly into the hybrid's face.

"There's lots of weed in the fleet, darling … all you have to do is get us there!"

Zenobia arched her back, and strained to break the molecular bonds that hold the universe in thrall. She reached beyond the event horizon to enter another dimension, and there sought out one particular star.

"_The circle long shattered seals. The sister to the brother joins."_

"_Jump!"_

. . .

"Commander, there are more than seven men on this ship for every female. All of the men are of an age to be sexually active. In my professional opinion, our situation is untenable."

Kendra Shaw glanced briefly at her Tauron XO. Sophia Palaikastro had a lot of Helena Cain in her. Her judgments were sober and always grounded in fact. She was not given to melodrama or hyperbole.

"Go on," Shaw quietly urged.

"You and I chose to stay with _Pegasus_ out of a sense of duty, but the other women are here because they are involved in personal relationships with male crew members. Some of these relationships are stable and of long duration. We can't put an end to them without causing a lot of bitterness in the process, but if we do nothing, this ship will explode with sexual jealousy."

"Unfortunately," Kendra sighed, "I agree with your assessment. Recommendations?

"We can evacuate the entire ship's population to Kobol on eight Raptors, and thanks to the Cylons, we now have enough tylium on board to do so. Indeed, if we drain the remaining Vipers dry, we can load an additional six Raptors with supplies. I recommend, therefore, that we equip fourteen Raptors with auxiliary tanks, abandon _Pegasus_, and relocate to Kobol as quickly as possible."

"It makes sense," Shaw said, "but Sophia … the ratio of men to women is going to be just as skewed on Kobol as it is here."

"That's true, Commander … but on Kobol, if they choose to do so, our people can simply fade into the night."

. . .

"_Hey … ow!" _Bierns awoke with a start and sat bolt upright in bed.

Sharon stirred, and then came fully alert. Even by cylon standards, her sleep program was incredibly sophisticated. Once it had become clear that she would marry the First Born, she had collaborated with Simon and Leoben to modify the base design. Now, if her husband had a nightmare, she would awaken. If he couldn't sleep, she would remain on guard. Her baby was a welcome complication that would require still more modifications of the program- more triggers that would summon her to full awareness- but the challenge of raising a child would not release her from her obligations to her husband. Long before her baseship had reached Gemenon, the Cylons had come to a decision. Their child needed protection, and it was Sharon's job to provide it. She was bodyguard and nurse, and the war that she waged against the monsters prowling John's dreams was never ending.

"What is it, baby?" She stroked his arm, the rhythm meant to calm him.

"I'm not sure, but it feels like somebody just parked a baseship inside my skull." John got out of bed, and started to dress.

"Where are you going?" There was an element of tension in Sharon's voice, the result of other programs beginning to come online.

"To see Reun; maybe this mule kicked her in the head too."

"I'll come with you." Sharon stood up, and began to reach for her clothes.

"No … no … go back to sleep." John leaned low to kiss her tummy. "You need your rest."

"You'll be all right?"

"I'm fine. Just curious, that's all."

"Okay, but you know I don't sleep well when you're not here."

"I won't be long, I promise. I love you, Sharon."

"I know," she said with a devilish grin—the one that never failed to melt John's heart. "But I'll expect you to prove it in the morning."

. . .

"Well, if the Cylons are out here, I don't think we're going to find them."

Stallion yawned, but it wasn't because of boredom. The Heavy Raider was deep in the rift, on the sixth and last day of its mission. Artemis had been keeping him plenty busy.

"Between the stellar radiation and the EMP surges, our instruments are virtually useless," the Six complained. "There could be a dozen basestars scattered all around us, but somehow I doubt it. Gamma rays are as hard on ships as they are on us … why would the Cavils want to run the risk? The logical place for them to hole up and wait for us is at the entrance to the rift."

"Hey, wait a second! I'm picking up a large planetary body. For the DRADIS to work, we must be right on top of it!"

"Let's check it out." Artemis dropped the Heavy Raider's nose, and a blue-white ball suddenly appeared beneath them.

"What the frak! Where did _that_ come from?" Stallion looked uneasily at his Cylon girlfriend. "I'd swear it wasn't there a minute ago."

"Hephaestus, it was there, all right … it just wasn't on our instruments. Anyway, let's pull up the survey package and see what we've got."

Artemis brought an entire bank of instruments on line, and initiated a scan of the ghostly planet.

"It has an atmosphere … nitrogen and oxygen with … several trace elements. We've got organic molecules … lots of them … and there's fresh water … _fresh water_! Stallion," Artemis whispered, "this rock … this rock is habitable."

"Holy frak! Artemis, is this Earth? Have we found Earth?"

"I don't think so, but it doesn't matter. This world … it looks like this world can support human and cylon life. Hephaestus, our baby … Aphrodite's little boy could be born on this world. He could take his first steps in real air, under a blue sky …"

"Home," Stallion said longingly, "dirt beneath our feet … a sky overhead. A home for our people … we may have just found a home for our people!"


	44. Chapter 44: Requiem

CHAPTER 44

REQUIEM

"I'm taking us down," Artemis suddenly decided. "We'll collect samples—soil, water, plant material … everything we can find."

"We'll miss the rendezvous with the fleet," Stallion warned. "As it is, we're cutting it really close."

"Hephaestus, don't you want to take a stroll on the beach with me?" The Six pretended to pout. "I've never felt sand between my toes. Don't you think I'd look good with a tan?"

"I love you just the way you are … and I really don't think this is such a good idea. Artemis, it's an alien biosphere. We need to be careful. There might be a dozen different germs down there that would regard us as lunch, and the last thing on Caprica we need to do is take a bug back to the fleet for which we have no immunity. A plague can be just as deadly as Cavil's Raiders."

"That's why we need to collect samples. We can complete a preliminary analysis before we leave the surface, and if it will make you happy, we'll wear our environmental suits throughout. But," she teased as she walked her fingers up and down his arm, "if it turns out that we have absolutely nothing to worry about, I really do want to go for a walk on the beach. I want us to be the first couple to leave their footprints in the sand …"

"Artemis," Hephaestus sighed.

"Stop fretting about the fleet, sweetheart. We'll catch up with it at the standby coordinates."

The Heavy Raider dipped into the ionosphere. "I'm going to make one orbit above the equator; after that, we'll move north and south in fifteen degree increments. We'll do a photo survey first, followed by a sampling of characteristic features—polar ice, desert, forest, alluvial soil. We'll save the oceans … and our beach … for last."

"We need to go deeper into the atmosphere," Stallion said a few minutes later. He was studying the first set of photos. "Between the stellar dust and the ambient radiation from the nebula, it's like we're looking at the planet through a thick fog. Everything's fuzzy."

"Look on the bright side, sweetheart. The nebula hides this rock so effectively that the Cavils may never find it."

"Artemis, unless we rig some kind of beacon, I'm not sure that _we'll_ ever find this place again! I mean … on one sweep the DRADIS was empty and on the next … there's a planet right beneath our feet."

The two pilots systematically plodded their way around the planet, but by the eighth orbit Stallion had had enough. They were currently traversing the sixtieth parallel, but if the terrain beneath them differed from what they had filmed along the forty-fifth, he couldn't see it.

"Tundra," he cursed; "tundra, and more tundra. There doesn't appear to be any vegetation on this rock above the thirtieth parallel. The temperate band sure doesn't add up to much."

"It's not the axial tilt," the Six concluded, "so it must be the stardust. It's absorbing a lot of the solar radiation that would normally reach the surface. I don't think we're going to have a lot of blazing sunsets here."

"Yeah, you're right. Honey, what do you think? Should we speed things up a bit? I reckon we should head for the north magnetic pole, drill a core sample from the permanent ice pack, and then head back to the equator."

"That sounds good to me." Artemis brought the Heavy Raider around on a new heading, and used her instruments to chart a course that would lead them directly to the north magnetic pole.

"Two hundred and forty below zero," Stallion whistled when they arrived. "And I thought it got cold on Aquaria. This planet's a beast!"

Neither pilot chose to dawdle on the surface. The Heavy Raider was fully equipped for this kind of survey mission, and cylon technology effortlessly bored through the ice. They stored the sample for future analysis, and headed south. The dunes of a shifting desert along the eighteenth parallel supplied more samples, and they collected soil and vegetation from the floor of a valley carved out over eons of time by the largest river on the planet. They drew water from a lake, and captured it fresh by chasing down and parking in the middle of a passing thunderstorm.

Artemis spent hours with her hands inside a secure containment field, bent over instruments that would render judgment on life at the microbial level, while Hephaestus limped across the surrounding landscape, a lame hunter tracking swift moving game. He managed to shoot a few small, bounding creatures that vaguely reminded him of rabbits, but the larger animals eluded him. Still, he obtained photos of the abundant wildlife; if the meat was edible, the fleet would finally be able to stock the increasingly depleted larder.

When Stallion eventually reentered their ship, Artemis was still at it, her attention fully absorbed by the samples under her microscope. Hephaestus remained silent, determined not to disturb her. Artemis and Aphrodite were twin pillars of seemingly identical beauty, but the lieutenant knew better. Each had her own distinguishing traits, and the pilot loved the way in which Artemis frowned when a puzzle had captured her imagination. He was praying fervently to all the gods in his pantheon that the planet would turn out to be benign because he was really looking forward to their walk on the beach. There was a scene in an old movie that he badly wanted to act out in real life.

. . .

Sonja Six walked into the CIC with a modest file of scouting reports in her hand. She had digested the mission statements put together by seven of their exploratory teams, but she was acutely aware of the fact that one team had yet to return, and that its report was likely to prove the most critical of them all.

"Good morning, Admiral … Colonel … seven of the Heavy Raiders that we sent out six days ago have now reported back. Our pilots found no evidence of enemy activity anywhere in this quadrant, and Sharon and Chinstrap spent almost five full days probing the entrance to the rift. Sir, this strikes me as odd because we have found no other passages leading very far into the nebula. The Cavils should be here in force."

"Bill, I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Tell me about it, Colonel." Adama felt like an invisible hangman was slipping a noose around their collective necks.

"Sonja, the entrance to the rift— was there anything there at all? A beacon of some sort … a mine field … anything that might signal our presence to a fleet waiting to ambush us?"

"No, sir … and Sharon and Chinstrap were thorough. They even checked their DRADIS log for ghost images. I conclude that the Cavils expect us to jump directly into the rift from outside the nebula. The passage itself may be littered with buoys."

"We sent out eight ships. Who's overdue?"

"Artemis and Stallion—and they were tasked to scout the rift itself. Sir, we cannot discount the possibility that they have been killed or captured …"

"In which case," Tigh pointed out, "our emergency jump coordinates may have been compromised."

"The fleet will remain here for another six hours," Adama declared, "but right now I want to carry out a reconnaissance in strength of everything within thirty light minutes of where we'll next come out of jump. Sonja, send out two full squads of Raiders, with a pair of Heavies to coordinate. I'll expect hourly reports."

Adama walked over to the navigation station, where Dionysia and Rhodope once again had the duty.

"Can you get us well inside the rift in two jumps," he asked.

"Yes, sir," Rhodope reluctantly admitted, "but the second jump would be quite dangerous. Without the necessary telemetry, we could end up in a magnetic sea or a particle storm. We'd be jumping blind, sir."

"Artemis and Stallion are overdue, so we may have little choice in the matter. Plot a number of reentry points for the second jump, and we'll send Raiders out to cover them all. If there's a safe haven inside the rift, they'll find it."

. . .

"Oh, frak me," Sophia cursed. "DRADIS contact! Confirming two cylon Raiders; they're keeping station twenty MU's off of our six. What in the name of the gods?" The XO looked at Kendra Shaw, who registered the confusion in her Tauron subordinate's normally taciturn expression. "Commander, the war book says that we've got a pair of the old three passenger attack vehicles on our tail. What would they be doing out here?"

"Does it matter? They've found us, and they're hostile." Shaw strode quickly to the nuclear launch console and removed her key. "_Pegasus_ is about to fight her last battle, Miss Palaikastro, but she's going to take a lot of toasters down with her. Insert your key, and on my mark bring the nukes on line. Ready? Three … two … one … mark."

The two officers simultaneously turned their launch keys, enabling every nuclear warhead on the ship. Some sat atop missiles now permanently held in readiness, but others were strategically located throughout the badly wounded battlestar, with hastily installed wiring linking them to the control panel. Kendra had only one objective now, and that was to pull the enemy in close. She just hoped that they would come in force.

"The Raiders have jumped," Palaikastro announced.

Kendra picked up her phone, and made what she expected to be her next to last ship wide hail.

"Attention, all hands. The Cylons have found us, and we can expect an all-out attack in a matter of minutes. All hands report immediately to your evacuation stations; confirm your emergency jump coordinates, and await further instructions."

The few officers who were still manning the CIC got up from their duty stations, and hastened out of the room.

"How many Raptors have we prepped," Shaw asked.

"Thirteen," the XO replied.

"Not bad for a skeleton crew laboring under the most adverse of circumstances," Kendra proudly observed. Then she looked at Sophia Palaikastro.

"It's time, Sophia; get to your evac Raptor."

"Sir … request permission to stay with the ship."

"Denied," Shaw answered. "Your job is to get our people safely to Kobol, and with that insure humanity's survival."

"Kendra, you don't have to do this! Come with us," the XO pleaded.

"Sophia, we both know that someone has to stay with _Pegasus_. The only way to inflict the maximum amount of damage is to trigger the nukes manually." She hastily scribbled a final entry in her log book, which she had brought to the CIC in anticipation of this very contingency. Helena Cain's logs had already been stored on board one of the Raptors. In dispassionate terms, and for good and for ill, the logs recorded the history of everything that had transpired since the Cylons' surprise attack on the Scorpion shipyards.

"Never let our people forget that there was once a battlestar called _Pegasus_, and never let it be said that _Pegasus _died without her captain. Now, go!"

Fighting back her tears, the hard-bitten executive officer stood stiffly to attention, and offered Kendra Shaw one last salute. Then she turned about face, and marched out of the CIC for the final time.

"Come on, you slit-eyed bastards," Shaw muttered to herself; "send your entire frakking fleet right down my throat!" She watched the DRADIS anxiously, knowing that it was just a matter of time.

Three basestars suddenly appeared on the screen, and they immediately began to launch Raiders. Shaw waited quietly, offering no resistance. Four conventional warheads slammed into the battlestar's tough metal hide, and then a second salvo hit home. A series of explosions raked the ship's already badly damaged starboard hull, opening a dozen more compartments to space. A scattering of crates, assorted tools, and the bodies of fallen shipmates were sucked into the waiting vacuum.

And still, Kendra Shaw did nothing.

She was watching the feeds from more than a dozen security cameras, hoping against hope that the Cylons would board _Pegasus _now as they had months earlier when Cain had fallen into the trap set for them at the communications relay station.

She got her wish. On first one security feed, and then on two and three and four, the antiquated but still deadly 0005's stormed her decks.

And still, Kendra Shaw did nothing.

. . .

"_The stars like dust at their feet, hallways beckoning, amid nascent echoes of woe indeterminate, future and past the mote in God's eye. The relay at junction LRV714Q327 has blown … can you replace the light bulb, Gaius? All of this has happened before, and all of this will happen again. . . ."_

"_Jump!"_

Hoshi looked down at the hybrid, and simply shook his head in frustration. This made four jumps in close succession, and neither he nor anyone else on board the baseship could say with any confidence that they knew what was happening.

"Is it possible that she's blown a fuse … short circuited, somehow?" The colonel was beginning seriously to second guess his decision to allow Baltar to try and humanize this unfortunate creature.

"I don't think so," one of the Sharons tentatively replied. She was kneeling at the side of the tank, and closely studying its enigmatic inhabitant. "She seems to be executing Doctor Baltar's order to seek out her brother, but I'm not really certain. We depend on the hybrid to gather, collate and introduce data into the stream. Right now, however, that's not happening. These jumps are occurring so quickly that we are essentially flying blind."

"_Evanescent darkness consumes the swarm, purpose and meaning hidden in the folds of time. The dying leader once betrayed stirs the wrath of angels. No ceremonies are necessary."_

"_Jump!"_

"Well, how can she possibly fix our location along all three axes, and then derive the next set of coordinates in a matter of seconds? I mean, we are dealing with human brain tissue here, aren't we?"

"Colonel, I don't think that Zenobia is calculating anything." Baltar was also kneeling beside the vat, but he was gently caressing the hybrid's cheek with the back of his hand. She had somehow become his responsibility, and he took the charge seriously. "She's homing in on a beacon, but the beacon is itself in constant motion. Her jumps will become increasingly precise as she gets closer and closer to the fleet."

"Bierns? _She's homing in on Major Bierns?"_

"Bierns isn't human, Colonel, and you would be well advised to remember it. These hybrids are a self-contained community, and the laws of physics that govern our lives don't seem to have much relevance in theirs."

"_The trickster's line will bring down the lofty towers of Ilium. The children of gods self-anointed let loose the dogs of war in pursuits at once frivolous and vain. There are rats in landing bay 23, and the tin soldiers can use the target practice. Dispatching two squads, but the mind that burns like fire stands condemned, forever restless and dissatisfied. The twin towers will fall to man and machine, the synthesis all but complete. Apotheosis stirs in the rubble, awakening the goddess, the fate of universes poised in the balance. . . ."_

"_Jump!"_

. . .

Kara was furiously pacing back and forth inside the bed chamber that she now openly shared with Boomer, but the constant movement did nothing to relieve her misery.

"Pills … booze … nothing works," she complained. "I can't shake this blasted headache, and it's getting worse all the time. It's like somebody's drilling a hole in my skull, only they keep changing the bits, and they're getting bigger all the time. _Frak!_"

Is it the baseship," Boomer asked anxiously. "Is it talking to you again?" Sharon was privately convinced that having Kara live on Olivia's baseship while continuing to work on Pelea's was a very bad idea. She had repeatedly urged Kara to relocate to _Galactica_, or failing that, to take refuge with Reun. But Kara had rejected her arguments out of hand, citing the principle of decentralization that had now become the fleet's strategic imperative.

"No, all's quiet on the home front," Kara replied. Boomer didn't miss the sense of tangible relief in her voice.

Sharon stole up behind her, and Kara stopped her incessant pacing long enough to allow her lover to begin massaging her neck and shoulders. Boomer was gentle, but everywhere she touched hurt, and Kara hissed in pain.

"You're incredibly tense," Sharon conceded; "your neck muscles are hard as rocks, and the tendons are full of knots. Can you even turn your head?"

A harsh laugh was Kara's only response.

"Do you want to make love," Boomer asked as she kissed Kara on the back of the neck. "It will relax you."

"Captain, we're supposed to be on duty," Kara shot back. "You know, protecting the fleet?"

"Sonja has everything under control," Boomer soothed, "and I've already put you on sick call. Simon and Larissa will be here shortly, but I doubt if they'll be able to help. My sister says …"

"What?"

"John also had a rough night. He told Sharon that it felt like an entire fleet of baseships had taken up residence inside his skull. He's in the hybrid's chamber; he's been there for hours."

"I should go to them; order us up a Raptor."

"Kara …"

"Don't, Boomer… just don't."

"Well, could we at least talk about moving to the _Virgon Express_? I know that you were just kidding, but I think that it's a great idea. I've spoken to Lydia and Sibyl, and they would love to have us. We would also be promoting Roslin's policy of integrating the fleet."

"Doing our bit for the cause … like Billy Keikeya?" Kara had roared with laughter when she learned that the gangly presidential advisor had fallen hard for an Eight, and had abandoned _Colonial One_ to move into her quarters on the resurrection ship. "Boomer, do you realize how many people are commuting to and from work in this fleet? Thank the gods we found enough tylium on that asteroid to move us to the far end of the galaxy. The way it's going, we're going to need every drop!"

"Kara, what Sharon is trying to say is that you're not alone here. You have more friends than you realize."

"_Helo!" _Kara twisted around at the sound of her friend's voice and, despite the pain, rushed to embrace him. "Gods, but it's good to see you." She could see Larissa Karanis and Simon O'Neill lingering in the background.

"You look like you could use a lollipop," Karl observed as he gently pushed her back. "I've got cherry, and I've got grape. Take your pick." Helo favored Kara with one of his patented grins, but he was under enormous strain, and it showed.

Kara grabbed the grape, but she eyed Karl warily. She was always happy to see her old friend, but she found it hard to believe that Helo had decided to tag along with Simon and Larissa just to hold her hand.

"Sharon tells me that you are experiencing severe headaches," the Four stated with his usual deadpan expression. "How would you describe them?"

"Constant … and getting worse, but it's really weird. Just when it feels like I'm about to get it under control, another jolt hits me. They're coming at irregular intervals, and each is worse than the one before. Hey, Karl … where's Sharon?"

Simon and Larissa both frowned, but it was the nurse who spoke up.

"Sharon and Hera are in some distress," Larissa reluctantly replied. It was obvious that she was choosing her words with care. "For the time being, we have ordered her to stay in bed because there is some risk that she will go into premature labor."

"I have also had to confine my wife," Simon added. "In fact, we have installed much of the medical equipment that we recovered from the Colonies on our baseship. Among other things, we now have a state-of-the-art maternity ward. Our medical staff is continuously monitoring Sharon and Giana, as well as Ruth and Esther—the two Gemenese women who chose to keep the babies with which they were forcibly inseminated. They are also at risk."

"What about Creusa and Shelly?" Kara dreaded the answer; she had already figured out what this high- powered visit was all about.

"Creusa is experiencing discomfort, but she has a very strong constitution and she is fighting back hard. Shelly is vomiting, and we haven't been able to stop it. We are intravenously administering massive amounts of fluids to counteract the dehydration, but her condition is not improving. Doctor Cottle and the Admiral are with her now."

"And you think it's us," Kara whispered. "John and I are having headaches, the babies are all having fits, and you immediately jump to the conclusion that _we're killing them_. I frakkin' don't believe this!"

"John has fled to Galatea Bay," Larissa added. "We think that he sees himself as a threat, and that he's trying to get out of the way, but we're not sure. Kara, I'm going to use the holoband that Lacy Rand gave us to try and reach him, but we need you to try and calm the babies. Hera has responded to you in the past; you're the best chance that these children have got."

"But I can't sense them! Don't you understand? My brain feels … it feels like I'm being taken apart by a buzz saw! Right now, there is no connection—that's why there's no logic to any of this."

"You've got to try," Larissa persisted.

"I will, but if this doesn't work … then go ahead and sedate me! Better yet, just cut to the chase and toss me out the nearest airlock. I'm tired of having everybody look at us as if we're some kind of bomb that's about to explode in their face. If we're such threats, why don't you just kill the both of us and be done with it?"

"If we lose Shelly and Callista, the Admiral may make that decision for us." Helo decided to give it to her straight. "It might be a good idea for you and John to leave the fleet, at least until after the babies are born."

"But this is just the first wave of pregnancies, Karl; an integrated fleet … a blended society … hybrid children represent our best hope for real peace. So, we're talking exile here … permanent exile."

"Kara, you're not going anywhere," Boomer fumed. She had heard enough. Sharon defiantly wrapped her arm around Kara's shoulders. "If anybody tries to hurt you or John, I promise you that the Eights will tear this fleet apart with their bare hands!"

. . .

John Bierns restlessly paced back and forth across the spacious living room, all the while rocking his infant daughter in his arms. Ariadne was sleeping peacefully, a little angel who was wholly oblivious to the turmoil that was tearing at her father's heart.

"Sweetheart, I don't think that our little one will wake up if you decide to sit down."

Deirdre was resting on the settee, but John was so tense that she found it impossible to relax. Normally, she had eyes only for her daughter, but at the moment it was her husband whom she was studying intently. He was confused and afraid, but as always his fear centered on the harm that he was inflicting upon others. This was a weakness that his enemies might someday profitably exploit, but Deirdre loved the First Born in no small part because of his vulnerability, not in spite of it.

"I don't understand any of this," John confessed. "I've taken a sledgehammer to the head so many times tonight that I ended up on my knees. As usual, Sherman and Hera get to pay the price for my lack of emotional control, but how can Ariadne remain so calm in the midst of all this chaos? It just doesn't make any sense."

"Are you still in pain?"

"Yeah; it's fading, but it still registers. Right now, Ariadne should be screaming her lungs out."

"Brother," Reun sighed, "must you personally shoulder the blame for everything that goes wrong in our lives? One of our sisters seems to be stalking us, but she cannot pursue us into this dimension. My niece is not going to start crying simply because you have a headache."

"We all sense our sister's presence, and it is getting stronger as she draws nearer." Cassandra was trying to fight her way through the thick wall of guilt that surrounded John's psyche, but this was no easy task. "Reun and I can reach directly into Hera's mind; perhaps our wayward sister is displaying the same ability. This may have nothing to do with you or Kara."

"But why is Shelly being hit so hard? I can't even sense Callista's presence."

"We don't know," Olivia frankly conceded, "but I can tell you that Kara is also suffering terribly, and that I am finding it more and more difficult to keep awareness of our sister out of the stream. We are a unique community, one with telepathic overtones, and even in the womb the hybrid children are a part of it. As our numbers continue to grow, it may turn out that the children will become aware of us at an earlier and earlier age. Remember, the Eights already sense the gender of their child at the moment of conception. Human constructs have no place here."

"But I built this community of ours," John objected; "I'm at the epicenter of all these events."

"Husband, that's not true, and you know it. The link between Kara and Hera has nothing to do with you, and it is very strong …"

A bright flash of light filled the room, and when it faded, Larissa Karanis was standing in the middle of the gathering. She wasted no time on pleasantries.

"Would someone like to tell me what's going on," she asked.

"We're not sure," Deirdre bluntly countered, "but we strongly suspect that there's a baseship out there which is actively hunting the fleet."

"Hunting the fleet … or hunting Major Bierns?"

"The distinction is meaningless," Cassandra sharply responded. "We are a family. The fleet is our joint responsibility."

"Then get to work! Kara is trying her best to calm everybody down, but her mind is under siege. She badly needs help, and she needs it right frakking now! If you people don't get your act together, we're going to lose Shelly and her baby!"

"Connect her to the stream," Reun ordered; "but leave Sharon and Creusa to Kara. John, you do what you can for Esther, Ruth, and Giana. Sisters, you have to intercept these probes; deflect them any way you can."

"Larissa, I want you to remain here and take care of Ariadne." Deirdre took her daughter and deposited her in the nurse's arms. "I will help Reun."

"Deirdre … no! If the Cylons sense your presence in the stream …"

"Husband, we cannot lose Callista. The admiral will blame you for her death, and the alliance will fall apart. This is one way in which your vision of a galaxy subject to cylon tyranny can come to pass."

"Let Reun …"

"_No_! I saved you from something far worse than death, and I will draw upon that experience to save Shelly and her child._ No one else can do this! No one else knows how!"_

. . .

"Doctor, Shelly's blood pressure is down to 80 over 55, and the baby's heart rate has dropped to 75 beats per minute. We're losing them both."

"Damn it, Ishay, tell me something I don't know." Cottle strapped an oxygen mask around Shelly's nose and mouth, and started the flow. "This should help stabilize them both," he said to the admiral. Adama was hovering next to the bed, and he had a tight grip on his wife's hand. He was urging her to hold on, to fight, but his voice was little more than a choked whisper. His eyes kept darting back and forth between her face and the fetal monitor positioned above her head. Sherman had served with Bill Adama for years, and he had never seen such anguish on his old friend's face. For the elderly doctor, it was a struggle just to hold on to his professional composure.

A loud, despairing scream reached him from one of the other beds, and Cottle instantly rushed to the opposite side of the ward. One of the Eights who had joined his nursing staff was stroking Ruth Gabriel's hand while verbally encouraging her to take deep breaths. Cottle glanced at her vitals, and flinched at what he saw. It was the same story: the Gemenese woman's blood pressure was dropping like a stone, and the baby's heart rate was fast approaching critical territory.

"How can so many healthy babies get into so much trouble so fast," he wondered out loud. Cottle had no answer, and neither did his Sharon.

"I'm going to give her ten units of daltrapezyne," Cottle told his nurse, "and once it starts to take effect, I want you to make her angry … really angry. Get her attention, and then tell her that she's a worthless piece of human garbage. Laugh in her face, tell her she's not fit to carry a cylon baby … whatever it takes."

"Doctor?" Sharon couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Anger will boost both her heart rate and her blood pressure," Cottle explained. "The adrenaline surge may just save them both."

Cottle moved on to Sharon Agathon's bedside. Kara Thrace was massaging Sharon's hugely distended belly while constantly exhorting Hera to calm down, but one glance at the fetal monitor told Cottle that she was failing miserably. The baby was incredibly agitated, and the child's violent movements had long since begun to take their toll on the mother. Sweat was streaming from Sharon's forehead, and her eyes were fixed in what Cottle thought of as the infantryman's mythical thousand yard stare. Hera was in no real danger, but Sherman didn't know how much more of this Sharon could take. He began seriously to weigh the pros and cons of inducing labor.

_This isn't a maternity ward, _the doctor decided; _it's a madhouse. None of us knows one damned thing about delivering prenatal care to hybrid babies … not one damned thing._

. . .

"_Ablaze with the light of unquenchable fire, soaring and broken, the angels stretch forth their wings to embrace the anointed of God!"_

The hybrid once again crossed the bridge that leads to infinity, sought out the twin stars … found them. Zenobia hurled her baseship straight at the beacons that were summoning her home.

"_Jump!"_

. . .

"Natalie, you have to get the Cylons out of the stream! Their concern for the children is commendable, but it's only making a bad situation worse. Please …"

John screamed in pain, and crashed to the floor of the control room, clutching his head. His sinus cavities, already ruptured during the bloody retreat from the _Pegasus_, collapsed. A crimson stream gushed out of his nostrils.

. . .

Kara lay on the deck, writhing with pain, barely aware of her surroundings. Now she knew what Boomer had been trying to tell her. The baseship that had been pursuing her brother had found her, and it was carving a hole in her brain.

. . .

Kendra grasped the bulky controls, and turned _Pegasus _hard to starboard. The new course would send the battlestar into the gap between two of the approaching basestars, while leaving the third trailing behind and to port. Raiders were buzzing around her hull like angry bees, and basestars and Raiders alike were hammering _Pegasus_ with their missile salvos, but the attacks only added to the heavy damage that the ship had already sustained in the bow and along the portside.

The two basestars retreated, and watching the DRADIS, Kendra noted with grim satisfaction that they had begun to drift apart. She drove _Pegasus_ deeper into the gap, and at the last possible second executed another hard turn to starboard. Now she was on a direct collision course with one of the giant enemy vessels, but she had no intention of letting the toasters off quite so easily. Suddenly, she veered to port while rolling the ship so that its starboard aspect confronted the enemy at close range. She raced to the tactical console, and closed the switches that unleashed a hail of nuclear missiles. The Raiders gamely tried to intercept the launch, but the two ships were now so close together that they stood no chance. Missile after missile poured into the basestar, and it exploded in a gigantic ball of nuclear fire.

_Pegasus _was still turning to port when the shock wave slammed into her starboard side, pushing her still harder to port. The basestar that, only seconds before, had been safely trailing her now found what was left of the once mighty battlestar coming right down its throat.

. . .

Bierns staggered into the maternity ward. He was covered in blood, and fighting to regain control of a body that increasing felt like it had been usurped by some other being. Ignoring the chaos that awaited him at every turn, he headed straight for Shelly's bed.

Adama watched him come, and years of pent-up frustration finally erupted. He hated the Colonial Secret Service officer who had stolen the _Valkyrie_ away from him, and now it was his daughter's very life that hung in the balance.

Adama reared up. He was an old man, but he put everything he had into the punch. Bierns went down in a heap.

Sharon was alive with programs that ordered her to protect her husband, and every one of them now activated. She delivered a right cross to the admiral's head, and she held nothing back. Adama was lifted off his feet by the force of the blow, and sent flying across the room.

The Eight wasn't done … not by a long shot. Adama would have died right then and there, but Natalie and Leoben threw themselves on her, bringing her to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

"Enough," Bierns coughed. "We don't have time for this!"

He peeled himself off the floor, and painfully made his way to Shelly's side. He picked her up off the bed, and turned for the entryway. Never one for prayer, the First Born nonetheless prayed now. He reached out to the Cylon god, and begged that he might be allowed to reach Reun's chamber before the next blow dropped him to his knees.

"_What are you doing with my patient,"_ Cottle roared.

"Saving her life," the Deliverer replied.

. . .

Kendra made no attempt to alter her course. Instead, she issued her final command to the last of her crew, who were tucked safely away inside the thirteen Raptors that had been fully prepped for the long and uncertain journey to Kobol.

"Attention all Raptors, attention all Raptors … prepare to jump on my mark. Stand by … stand by …"

The basestar was frantically trying to turn away, but Kendra had the advantage of both speed and surprise. She easily matched its turns, and relentlessly closed the range.

"All Raptors, prepare to jump. I say again, jump on my mark."

"Ready? Three … two … one … _jump_!"

Still inside the hull, all thirteen of Kendra's birds jumped simultaneously, and the spatial disruption tore what was left of _Pegasus_ to pieces. The hull fractured in dozens of places, and huge chunks of the ship tore off and went flying in all directions. Hundreds of centurions were swept into space, and dozens of Raiders died as they collided with the massive debris.

_Pegasus_ was an arrow now- a nuclear arrow- and the basestar could not get out of its way. Kendra no longer had any instruments to serve her; she was operating purely on instinct. She waited, and she waited—and then, four days shy of her twenty-third birthday, the last commander of the battlestar _Pegasus_ closed one final switch.

Eight nuclear bombs simultaneously detonated, and _Pegasus_ died—but she had trapped the cylon basestar in her deadly embrace. The two ships vanished in a single ball of nuclear light.

. . .

"Oh my," the crimson robed Cylon remarked as its mechanical eyes blinked several times in rapid succession, "but that was messy. You can always count on humans to make the noble but empty gesture."

"Was the destruction of two basestars an empty gesture," the centurion mechanically inquired.

"Oh, yes … quite empty," Lucifer replied, "quite empty."

"Now that the battlestar _Pegasus_ has been destroyed," the centurion intoned, "shall we set course to return to the fleet?"

"No," Lucifer decided, "I don't think so. I don't trust our humanoid brothers and sisters; they've become a little too human for my liking. No, we shall resume our search for the Guardian. Centurion, return us to our original heading."

"By your command."

. . .

Artemis Six and Lieutenant Hephaestus Jerome Fears moved slowly down the beach. Stallion's limp slowed their pace, but they were in no hurry anyway. They had the island all to themselves … indeed, they had the whole planet.

They walked hand in hand, two nude bodies seeking out the warmth of an uncertain sun, the sea that had so long ago spawned their twin kind gently lapping at their feet.

The Cylon and the human had crossed thousands of light years to reach this point, but the journey inside their hearts had carried them across an infinitely greater distance.

Hephaestus kissed the Cylon, his tenderness conveying the full measure of his feelings. No words were spoken as he lowered her gently to the sand. With the sea rising up to add its own gentle caress, they made love, seeking to bring new life to the new worlds of their joint discovery.


	45. Chapter 45: Knock, Knock

CHAPTER 45

KNOCK, KNOCK

The light was warm and intense, and it refused to be ignored. It was summoning her out of a deep but restless sleep—one disturbed by fitful dreams and scary images.

Shelly opened her eyes, and took in her surroundings. For a brief moment, she toyed with the idea that she was dead, and that her soul had finally returned to God. But she had always envisioned heaven as a forested glade, and even now she refused to believe that it came equipped with furniture.

She was lying on a lounge chair, the sun beating down upon her face, a gentle breeze faintly stirring the locks of her long, blond hair. And that puzzled her. She had always worn her hair short and tightly curled … an attractive but utilitarian cut. She had recently allowed it to grow out a bit because she thought that Bill would like it that way, but now it hung in long, thick tresses that reached well below her breasts. It was much longer than Creusa's or Lydia's, so much so that she wondered how closely she now resembled her sister Lida. Just how long had she been asleep?

Shelly sat up and looked around. She was lying on a white sand beach, with the surf of an improbably blue sea gently breaking off to her left. The sky was deep blue, its uniformity broken only by the riotous patterns of the clouds marching directly over her head. There was a high cliff in the distance to her right, and she could hear the thunder of a waterfall cascading down its surface. Trees, many of them unknown to her, paralleled the beach in thick groves, and there were brightly colored flowers blossoming everywhere.

Shelly ran her hands lovingly across her stomach, and a bright smile creased her lips. Her tummy was protruding; the bump was small, but it was definitely there! Then she frowned. Had the baby just moved, or was she suffering from an overactive imagination? She was in her fourteenth week, and all the books said that it was still too early for her child to be shifting about. But she was cylon, and she remembered with a laugh how often Doctor Cottle had told her that cylon women never did anything by half measures. She felt good, more than good … she felt _alive_.

A humming noise startled her. It was female, and it had a lilting, singsong quality to it that made Shelly think of a mother comforting a small child. She stood up, and turned to see who was behind her.

Down the beach, a young woman was kneeling in the sand at the water's edge. She was carefully cradling a tiny infant in her lap. The woman's chestnut colored hair reached down to the sand, and the salty foam caressed its ends even as it swept over the child's tiny feet. Even from a distance, Shelly could sense the baby's happiness. It was staring into the mother's adoring eyes, and it smiled and gurgled with attempted laughter every time the water touched its feet.

The mother and child were both naked, and only in that moment did Shelly realize that she was equally nude. It was a pleasant sensation—one which reminded her of her earliest days on the baseship, when clothing had still struck most of her brothers and sisters as a curious and unnecessary human affectation.

The woman looked up at Shelly, and smiled. Her eyes were an intense shade of blue, and the elegance of her features took Shelly's breath away. She had come to accept without question that Sixes were the most beautiful women in the universe, if only because so many of the human males kept making the claim on their behalf. Now, she felt more than a little foolish.

The woman stood up, and Shelly's mouth fell open. Sixes were tall, but this creature towered above her. For the first time in her life, Shelly felt physically intimidated.

"Are you one of the Lords of Kobol," she timidly inquired; "the goddess Athena, perhaps?"

Deirdre laughed, and the richness of the sound washed over Shelly Adama like a warm wave.

"Child, you surprise me. Is your faith in God so easily challenged, to say nothing of your common sense? If I were a goddess, does it not stand to reason that I would have at least a few handmaidens in attendance? Would Athena be bathing her own child, or washing out her diapers?"

Shelly blushed deeply with embarrassment, and Deirdre reached out to rest her hand upon Shelly's slightly distended stomach. She concentrated, but she grinned broadly when she detected the slight movement beneath her fingertips.

"I have been so worried about Callista," Deirdre said as she looked down into Shelly's eyes. She studied the Cylon closely for a moment. "Would you like to hold Ariadne? She's only four weeks old, and still very fragile. It will help you to understand what lies in your own future."

"_Ariadne? This is John's daughter?"_

"Yes." Deirdre slipped Ariadne into Shelly's arms. "Now, remember, you must support her neck at all times. Even at one month, the muscles are not yet strong enough to carry the weight of her head. If you are careless about this for even a few seconds, your child may be permanently damaged in consequence."

Shelly lovingly accepted the tiny burden, and did exactly what Deirdre instructed. She marveled at how light the child felt in her arms.

"You are the hybrid," she asked; _"you are John's wife?"_

"Yes," Deirdre smiled; "and if you were to come here in the darkest hours of the night, you would find my husband feeding her, and then walking her in the moonlight to help her get back to sleep. Ariadne loves the water, and is never happy when forced to venture far from it."

"I don't even know your name," Shelly confessed. "Are you Reun? Is this Galatea Bay? I didn't think that a Cylon could come here."

"All hybrids are a single manifestation of God's love," Deirdre obliquely replied, "so you may give me whatever name you desire. And no, you cannot enter our dimension. Right now, Reun is cradling you in her tank. You are sleeping, Shelly, as you have been for some days now. At first, we tried to link directly with Callista, but we failed. With great effort we can sense her, but her mind has not yet matured sufficiently for us to bond with her. Instead, we have had to concentrate first on keeping both of you safe, and only when you were out of danger could we reach out to you. We cannot take you to Galatea Bay, so we decided to bring it to you."

"I don't understand," Shelly admitted. "Am I in a coma?"

"Doctor Gerard would say so, but nurse Karanis would disagree. She has seen this before, and she is accordingly comfortable with the idea that one brain can house two minds. Through the stream I took over your body, and I forced it to go on functioning for the sake of your child. At the same time, I have been trying to draw you out and feed you information. This is your projection, Shelly, not mine. I have given you what you needed to construct Galatea Bay inside your own mind, and you have finally done so."

Ariadne suddenly began to cry, and Shelly instantly jumped to the conclusion that she had done something wrong. She offered the child back to her mother, but Deirdre stilled the apology that she could see forming on the Cylon's lips.

"She's hungry," Deirdre pointed out. "She's growing like a weed, and it takes a lot of energy. I have to feed her almost hourly." Deirdre settled her weight against a nearby boulder, and positioned the child to nurse at her breast.

Shelly watched the two of them enviously. She had never seen anything so beautiful, and she longed to experience the sensations that must now be coursing through the hybrid's body.

"My projection," Shelly said with a disbelieving shake of her head. "This is so far beyond the reach of my imagination … how?"

"I helped," Deirdre said with a knowing grin. "In fact, you might say that I tweaked your skills a bit."

A suspicion began to form in Shelly's mind. "You've done this before," she ventured. "You're not Reun. You're the hybrid on the baseship where John was tortured. You saved his life … your child was conceived _before_ the attacks on the Colonies."

"You are partly correct … but only partly. I pulled John back from the brink of madness, but it is he who gave me life. He redeemed me from slavery, and helped me to choose a name. He took me to Galatea Bay, which is his creation, and there with patience and love transformed me into a woman … into a fully autonomous being. Ariadne is the result of our mating, but she is also the product of a deep and abiding mutual love."

"So, it's true, then. A Cylon can only conceive through an act of love."

"Yes. Love is many things, but we all tend to forget that it is at bottom a complex biochemical process. One of the creators understood this, and she used this knowledge to design a series of checks not only to prevent Cylons from impregnating one another but also to guarantee that you could not casually have children with the humans. Cavil has unlocked most of her secrets; he used to taunt D'Anna and Aspasia with how easy it had been to undo the creators' handiwork."

"Aspasia?"

"Kara's mother … she was the first Six of the second generation, as John's mother is the eldest of all the cylon daughters."

"Am I permitted to know your name?"

The hybrid hesitated. "I have gone to elaborate lengths to keep your brothers and sisters from sensing my presence. They believe that it is Reun with whom they are dealing. It must stay this way."

"It is fortunate, then, that I live on _Galactica_, and that we have no stream. It will make it easy for me to keep your secrets. I will not even ask why it is so important for your existence to remain hidden, although there is only one logically compelling explanation."

The hybrid smiled. "You are a clever child … and my name is Deirdre."

"Was it you who sent me the visions, or was that Reun?"

"Reun … but the visions are the common property of the hive."

"And will they come to pass?"

"There is a future in which John saves our people, and Kara delivers them home. In this one future, you and Creusa will reshape a world, and through your children the two of you will dictate the course of its development for thousands of years to come. You are the Architects. You will do for Earth what Lacy and Gina are doing for Gemenon. But this is only one of many possible futures. _'All of this has happened before, and all of it will happen again'. _Everyone knows the scripture, but not even Leoben realizes its meaning."

"Hence you have risked everything to save my daughter. Is this one child truly that important?"

"In this cycle, your grandson _may_ change the world, and make of it a far, far better place. Without a past, Earth has no future. Only the hybrid children can chart a new course … one in which God's presence enlightens rather than suffocates."

"And will you be there … to guide us down the most favorable path?"

Deirdre smiled enigmatically. "The Lords of Kobol will shape Earth's destiny, but we will be hovering in the background. Once in a while, we may choose gently to interfere."

"Thank you for saving my daughter's life, and for giving me a glimpse of the world that she and Tamara will one day inhabit. It worries me, however, that my husband was not in my visions."

The shadows cast by a passing cloud washed across Deirdre's features.

"Your husband has lived a long and difficult life, and he has shouldered many responsibilities. You must prepare yourself, Shelly; you will survive him by many decades."

"I know," she softly replied. "In the time he has left, I want to give him as many children as I can. Preferably girls … Bill dotes on little girls."

Shelly squared her shoulders. "Is my husband the dying leader foreseen by Pythia?"

Another enigmatic smile crossed the hybrid's lips. "There are so many leaders in the fleet, and death is so elusive a concept …"

Then she turned serious. "No … neither Laura Roslin nor William Adama is the dying leader of whom the prophecies speak."

Deirdre's mask broke, and for one brief second Shelly was able to see the anguish that ate at her soul. A wave of pity flooded the young Six's heart.

"Deirdre, I'm so sorry. Is there no future … no truly happy ending for our people?"

The hybrid slowly and sadly shook her head. "There are many paths, but most end in failure. It is only through shared suffering and personal sacrifice that human and cylon can be transformed into a single people. The cost will be high."

Deirdre gazed upon her daughter, who was still sucking hungrily at her breast. "My husband also dotes on little girls," she continued with a wan smile, "and there is time enough to give him more. Wean Callista as quickly as you can, Shelly; do not take time for granted."

"What have I missed?" There was something in the hybrid's tone that sent a chill down Shelly's spine.

"Your husband attacked mine, and the Eight came to his defense. The admiral was … temporarily … incapacitated, so it was left to Natalie to jump the fleet. She took us into the nebula, hoping that the radiation would conceal us from the sister who has been so obsessively pursuing us, but it only doubled her determination to track us down. Natalie feared that we were being squeezed into a trap. And then Artemis and her husband returned from the rift with astonishing news . . . ."

"The marriages … I missed the celebration?" Shelly was stung; it hurt to discover that the others would go ahead without her.

"No," Deirdre laughed. "I am sorry, child; in my universe, the past, the present, and the future are eddies that swirl in such complex patterns that it is often difficult to separate them. One of the creators has phrased it well: _'everything is on hold until Sleeping Beauty awakens'._"

. . .

**Four Days Earlier**

**Twenty Minutes Later**

**Cylon Baseship**

**The Maternity Ward**

"_Damn it, Six, how many more times do I have to say this? Jump the fleet!"_

"Doctor, please calm down. The admiral's orders are specific: the fleet is to remain at these coordinates for another two hours."

"Yeah … well … the admiral's out cold, so you're in command now. The last thing Kara Thrace said as the sedative was taking hold is that there's a baseship homing in on us. You got any more warm and fuzzy friends out there that we don't know about? Come on, Natalie … what do you think Bill Adama would do in a situation like this?"

"Lee, how is my sister holding up?"

Apollo looked across the ward. Creusa was still in bed, but she was sitting up, her back propped against a mass of pillows.

"She's fine … at least for the moment. Natalie, I trust Kara's instincts. She said that there's a baseship bearing down on us, and she can't determine whether its friend or foe. What she felt emanating from its hybrid is a powerful sense of purpose and an enormous sense of urgency. It felt very, very different to her, and that's good enough for me. I think … I think we need to get out of here. I recommend that we leave a Raptor behind … human pilots only. But we should jump the fleet into the shadow of the nebula, which is exactly where the emergency coordinates will take us."

"But it's only one baseship," the Cylon commander protested. "What worries me is that our Raiders have found no evidence of the Cavils in this sector, yet they should be here. If I was setting up an ambush, this is where I would do it. It feels like we're being driven straight into a trap."

"Sister, I agree with Captain Adama." With considerable assistance from a pair of centurions, Leoben had forcibly ejected Sharon from the maternity ward before she could finish pounding Adama into pulp. He had never seen an Eight so enraged, and he wondered whether her pregnancy had triggered a cascade failure of some type in her programming. He had eventually calmed her down, and persuaded her to follow her husband to the hybrid's chamber. In direct defiance of Natalie's orders, however, the Two had then promptly entered the stream. What he encountered there had bewildered him. He had expected to sense John and Reun, and he had not been disappointed. He understood that nurse Karanis was there by virtue of the holoband because he could see her sitting quietly on the opposite side of the ward, the band still shading her eyes. But the hybrids from the various ships appeared to be in conference, and one of them was issuing a stream of orders to the others like a general going into battle in some netherworld conflict. It was clear that they were gearing up to defend the unborn hybrid babies against an assault that no one else could even sense, but how they planned on deflecting the attack remained a complete mystery. Leoben's visions had not prepared him for this moment, so he also decided to take refuge in his niece's instincts.

Natalie looked at him curiously. "May I ask why?"

"The hybrids are organizing in the stream … readying our defenses."

"You went into the stream?" Natalie disgustedly threw her hands into the air. "Doesn't anybody around here bother to follow orders anymore? Leoben, you're as bad as Sharon!"

"Very well," she went on with a resigned sigh. "I'm going to the control room. _If _the hybrids decide to cooperate, I'll signal the fleet to jump. But at the earliest opportunity, I'm going to get drunk because I now understand exactly what the admiral means when he says that his job mainly consists of herding cats!"

. . .

"_Shield girt, the goddess from the heights of Olympus descends and readies for war. Cow-eyed Hera stirs, and the children of Aphrodite and Apollo tumble in her wake. Defenders mount the bastion, but the enemy will undermine them from within. The particle flux in the inertial compensator stands 0.03% outside accepted tolerances. All of this has happened before … before … before …"_

The hybrid scowled. She had come to know the meaning of loneliness, and she did not like being shunned by her own kind. No, she didn't like it one little bit.

"_You can run but you cannot hide!"_

She could no longer sense the Second Born, but there were so many minds, and they were now so tantalizingly close. Though she might try, the Child of Sorrows could no longer keep her sister at bay. Once more, Zenobia peered beyond infinity's horizon.

"_Jump!"_

. . .

**Four Days Earlier**

**Four Hours and Thirteen Minutes Later**

**Battlestar **_**Galactica**_

**The Emergency Rendezvous Coordinates on the Edge of the Nebula**

"DRADIS contact," Dionysia Six nervously announced.

The entire CIC was on edge: word of the bizarre sequence of events transpiring on the baseship had spread across the fleet, and no one knew quite what to make of it all. The hybrids were in a panic. Shelly was unconscious, and possibly in a coma. Adama had slugged the First Born. John's wife had responded with a single punch that had knocked Adama into the next century. Natalie was threatening to get drunk. Adama had finally come to, told them all to go to hell, and rushed to his wife's side—which was as close as he could get, because Shelly was now residing in the hybrid's tank. Only one message had come through loud and clear: Eights might wander about looking like deer trapped in the headlights, but they weren't to be trifled with. Bill Adama had absorbed that particular lesson the hard way, and no one wanted to follow in his footsteps.

"Confirming a single Cylon baseship, bearing 747, carom 38 negative … keeping station 16 MU's outside the CAP."

Saul Tigh glanced around the CIC, and grimaced in disgust. "Maybe we should just send up flares and let everybody in the universe know where we are," he commented to the room at large.

"Sir," Dee cut in, "their transponder is set on a colonial frequency, and they are flashing ID and recognition codes. The codes are authentic; repeat … all traffic reads authentic."

Dualla listened closely to the burst of code that was recycling through her headphones, and frowned in puzzlement. "Colonel, the baseship is sending encrypted _Pegasus_ ID!"

"What the hell? Six, launch the alert Vipers, and set Condtion One throughout the fleet. Dee, notify all captains to stand by for emergency jump!"

Saul Tigh picked up the telephone that linked him directly to the various baseship control centers.

"Commander Six, this is the XO. We're getting encrypted colonial military transmissions over here, and they're coming in on a secure channel. Are you getting more of the same?"

Natalie stared at Leoben, who had stubbornly refused to quit lurking in the stream. "Our hybrids are displeased. Their sister is pounding on the door, figuratively speaking, and demanding admission. She apparently calls herself Zenobia. They are firmly of the opinion that she's weird. Cassandra just called her a flake."

Natalie looked at the Two as if he had lost his mind, but Leoben had been there and done that on too many occasions to count, and he just shrugged.

"Colonel," the Six finally replied, "when this is all over, would you like to come over and tutor me in the finer points of getting drunk … as in really, really drunk? Our hybrids," she said rather desperately, "our hybrids are accusing their sister of being … eccentric. The word 'flake' is being tossed around in the stream."

"Commander, I'll cheerfully supply the booze, but right now … shouldn't we be doing something other than standing around with our fingers stuck up our collective asses? Would you like to give me an order?"

"I'm sorry, Colonel; this is all rather new to me." Natalie swiftly ran what little they knew through her silica pathways. "They're not launching Raiders, and they haven't targeted us with their missile batteries, so let's remain on alert, but for the time being instruct our pilots not to do anything that would provoke a confrontation."

"Sirs, if I may make a suggestion?" Kat was eavesdropping from the control center on her own baseship. "We're supposed to be a team," she said as she winked at her own Two, "so I recommend that you let Sonja take point in a Heavy Raider. There's nothing like having a Six openly take charge of a Viper wing to get the point across."

"That's a good idea, Kat. Make it happen, Colonel. And Saul … as long as I'm in command of this fleet, I want it to be clearly understood that I welcome constructive advice from all quarters. Keep this channel open, but for the present, let's wait upon events."

. . .

"Doctor, I know that you're a busy man, but I would be grateful if you could spare me a minute or two of your time."

Baltar reluctantly shifted his attention from the hybrid to Louis Hoshi. The colonel was always polite and soft spoken, but now he was excessively so. Gaius knew the man well enough to realize that, beneath the surface, Hoshi was seething.

"We haven't jumped in more than twenty minutes," Hoshi patiently began. "You have to admit that, for _Seeker_, well … that's something of a record. More importantly, we're now sending encrypted traffic in continuous bursts on a secure colonial channel. The problem is that neither Sharon nor I are the source, and we're not exactly sure who's on the receiving end. All other communications are being jammed, and we have tried but are so far unable to launch Raiders. We can't even get the engines to start up on the Heavy Raiders. Since the data stream has also run dry, we're sitting here deaf, dumb, blind, and defenseless. Do you think that you could get your girlfriend's attention long enough to ask her what's going on?"

"First of all, Colonel," the scientist stiffly replied, "Zenobia is _not _my girlfriend. The hybrid is the subject of a critically important scientific study … a work in progress that is yielding fascinating results."

"So, there's no truth to the rumors that you're frakking her?" Philista Liu was well aware of Gaius Baltar's scandalous reputation. In bed, he was said to be easily bored, and to crave variety.

"Lieutenant, Gaius is not having sex with the hybrid," his Eight answered defensively. "But if he does," she added more defiantly, "it will be with my permission. We must help our Old One become a fully sentient being. This too is part of God's plan."

Danny Novacek groaned out loud, but it was strictly for theatrical effect. "Hey, Gaius, what do you think? Her lips are moving, but I can't hear a gods damned thing. Could you get her to speak up?"

"_Bulldogs nip at the heels of vigilantes," _the glassy eyed hybrid suddenly proclaimed. _"The wrath of Achilles knows no bounds. Fury in the quantum state is the flux of phantom particles in a proton field stressed by dark matter. There is no reason why two plus two must equal four. Little Danny was right, and the teacher wise to praise him. The answer is five."_

"Huh? How does she know about that?" Bulldog had gone through elementary school in the years immediately after the war, when building self-esteem had been deemed critical to basic education. He vividly remembered how the teacher had awarded him a gold star for raising his hand. It hadn't mattered that he didn't know the answer. His grandmother, gods bless the tough old bird, had been the one to set him straight.

"The hybrid is hard at it," Gaius said affectionately as he wiped her brow with a clean handkerchief. He had systematically ransacked a number of chambers that had once belonged to the Fives, and his wardrobe had benefited immeasurably as a consequence. He was determined to return to the fleet a sharp dressed man.

"She is communing with her sisters as we speak," he went on. "You know the rules, Colonel; when Zenobia is ready to speak with us, she will do so."

"Well, Doctor, in the interim I would like to try something else. We still have a Raptor parked on these decks, and Mr. Newell tells me that the communications gear is in good working order. Let's go give it a try. You're the Vice-President of the Colonies and the only person on board known throughout the fleet. If Admiral Adama's out there, you're the one who should speak with him."

"I'm glad, Colonel, that you appreciate the delicacy of our current situation." Baltar climbed to his feet. "Admiral Adama and I have an excellent working relationship, and as it happens, President Roslin hand-picked me for the vice-presidency. I'm sure that they'll welcome my return, and an intact baseship will give me a lot of leverage in the upcoming negotiations. I'm confident that I'll be able to secure a full pardon for all _Pegasus_ personnel, and arranging billets on the _Galactica_ shouldn't prove difficult at all."

A large party of humans and Eights headed for the landing bay, leaving the disconsolate hybrid with a pair of mute centurions as her only company.

. . .

"Colonel, you really want to hear this! Sir, I recommend putting the incoming transmission on speaker, and piping it throughout the fleet."

"What have you got, Dee?" The petty officer had aroused Tigh's curiosity, and he was now standing at her station.

"We're being hailed, sir. It's the baseship. It's called the _Seeker_."

"Baseships have names now?" Tigh pursed his lips while he thought about it. "Very well, Dee; on speaker, and by all means … let the fleet in on the gag."

Dualla didn't key the transmission until she had every ship in the fleet on a common circuit. For a brief moment, she wondered how her old flame Billy Keikeya would react to what he was about to hear. More to the point, she wondered how Rebecca Eight would respond.

"_This is Vice-President Gaius Baltar speaking to you from the rebel cylon baseship Seeker. We are a mixed crew of humans and Eights, who formally acknowledge colonial military authority. We are commanded by Colonel Louis Hoshi, formerly of the battlestar Pegasus. Most but not all of the humans on board were Pegasus officers and ratings. Our executive officer is Sharon, one of the thousand Eights to whom this ship has been home since birth. We have a full complement of centurions and Raiders, all of them loyal to the colonial cause, as well as eighty Heavy Raiders. I have been authorized by both elements of our crew to negotiate the terms of Seeker's entry into the fleet. We will continue to broadcast this message on all colonial military frequencies until we receive an acknowledgement. This is Doctor Gaius Baltar wishing you all a good day. . . . This is Vice-President Gaius …"_

. . .

"_Shut it off," _Tigh screamed. _"Shut the gods damned frakking thing off right frakking now! Dee, tell Sonja to go weapons hot, and blow that frakker into the next universe!"_

"Colonel," D'Anna soothed.

"How," Saul asked of no one in particular. "How did that snake oil salesman manage to survive?"

The XO leaned over, and began softly to pound his head against the command console.

. . .

Laura Roslin opened her bottle of chamalla tablets, and scooped out a pill.

"To hell with it," she muttered as she prepared to take two more.

The President didn't believe in washing a hallucinogenic down with high proof alcohol, but there were other ways to skin this particular cat. She opened the bottom drawer of her desk, and pulled out a nondescript cardboard box. She lit up one of the joints that she had oh so carefully stashed away, inhaled deeply, and held the potent drug in her lungs until she thought they would burst.

. . .

Admiral William Adama interrupted his vigil for his wife just long enough to stare disbelievingly at an Eight who was hovering nearby.

"Did I hear that right," he asked. "Did the hybrid just say _'oh, shit'_?"

But the Eight hadn't been listening. A maintenance worker, she had only recently managed to seduce a handsome young deck hand who had transferred from _Galactica_ to the baseship. The last thing on Caprica that she wanted to see was another thousand of her intensely competitive sisters cluttering up the premises.

"No, Admiral," she corrected; "I think that was me."

. . .

**Four Days Earlier**

**Seven Hours and Nineteen Minutes Later**

**A Heavy Raider at the Emergency Rendezvous Coordinates on the Edge of the Nebula**

Artemis and Stallion came out of jump, and their DRADIS began to light up like a Saturnalia tree.

"Uh … sweetheart … are you absolutely sure that we're in the right place?" The lieutenant silently gestured at the DRADIS screen.

The Six surveyed the blips that represented capital ships, and then counted them a second time just to be sure.

"Four baseships and _two_ resurrection ships … Hephaestus, what do you think? Is this about the time when Margaret would ask whether we're even in the right galaxy?"

"Maybe the Cavils surrendered while we were gone," Stallion suggested. He keyed the wireless, and opened a priority channel.

"_Galactica_, this is Spindrift Seven. The front door is open; I say again, the front door is open."

"Spindrift Seven, authenticate with current ID and recognition codes," Dualla ordered.

"Ah, what's the matter, Dee? Have you already forgotten the sound of my voice? That hurts."

"Spindrift Seven," Natalie cut in, "this is Commander Six … report the status of your mission."

"Sister, it is good to hear the sound of your voice! Did you bring back all these new ships?"

"When we reached the Colonies, we found another rebel baseship and a resurrection ship engaged in salvage operations. The fourth baseship caught up with us earlier today. It is a curiously blended ship. Several hundred humans who abandoned the _Pegasus _obtained refuge there, but the only Cylons on board are Eights. Doctor Baltar has explained what happened, but there are unsatisfactory gaps in his narrative, and the President has ordered the ship to be quarantined pending a full investigation. Now, report."

"We explored about half the main channel, as well as several tributaries which would pose obvious threats to our flanks. We detected no evidence of enemy activity, but we did discover a habitable planet that is well hidden from DRADIS. We conducted a preliminary survey, and obtained and analyzed soil, water, and atmospheric samples. The temperate zone is a fairly narrow band to north and south of the planetary equator, but the resources required to support our current population are more than adequate. The biosphere is benign, sister; it will sustain both the human and cylon life forms."

In _Galactica's _CIC, Saul Tigh let out a long, low whistle. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said to his own blended crew, "what are the odds of us picking up another rebel baseship _and_ finding a habitable rock on one and the same day? If you want proof that the Lords of Kobol really do exist, it just fell right into your lazy assed laps. One god would never muddle things up this badly. Oh, no … it takes a committee of pissed off, self-absorbed gods with way too much time on their hands to screw around with us like this."

In her own control room, Natalie Faust was asking much the same question. _What are the odds,_ she thought. She did not believe in the power of coincidence. It was much more likely that these improbable and somewhat inexplicable events were being orchestrated, and that the planet was a yawning trap waiting to devour them. She would accordingly urge the President to pass the planet by, and to put this quadrant behind them as quickly as possible. Natalie did not have Leoben's gift of prophecy, but she sensed something dark and terrible waiting for them in the rift.

. . .

**Two Days Earlier**

**10:00 Hours**

_**Colonial One**_

"Doctor, I want to make sure that there's no misunderstanding here." Natalie was still sober, but she was finding it easier and easier to understand why so many humans took refuge in alcohol. "You are telling us that you supplied the hybrid on your baseship with brandy, ambrosia, and hallucinogenic drugs, and that you did this on a regular basis?"

"Precisely," Baltar smugly replied.

"And," Apollo added, "you also … how did you put it … helped her to develop a … uh … heightened sexual awareness?"

"In other words," Roslin bluntly summarized, "you frakked her."

"Madame President, I am shocked … truly shocked … by your unfortunate choice of terms. This was a scientific experiment, nothing more and nothing less. My Sharon was present at all times. It would be more accurate to say that I coaxed the hybrid to engage in a certain amount of anatomical exploration, and that Sharon and I were tutoring her on what goes where."

"Your Sharon," Apollo scoffed.

"Yes, Captain … _my Sharon_. Did I happen to mention that she's pregnant? We're expecting twins," he nonchalantly remarked.

"_Twins?" _Natalie almost gagged on the word.

"Twins," Gaius confirmed. The bombshell had had its desired effect. Gaius reveled in the sick looks that washed across the faces of his three interrogators.

"Well, Doctor, I suppose that congratulations are in order. I'm sure," Laura venomously observed, "that you'll make a wonderful father."

"Thank you, Madame President; fatherhood has a way of humbling even the greatest of men, but I will certainly try my best." Knowing that it would irritate Laura Roslin no end, Baltar had spent several hours in front of a mirror rehearsing a variety of facial expressions, false modesty included among them.

"Doctor, the hybrid leads an existence that at all times might best be described as existential." Natalie wanted to get this discussion back on track. "Did it never occur to you that drugs and alcohol might make her unpredictable … even irresponsible? Or that introducing her to sex might make her angry and jealous?"

"These so-called experiments of yours are dangerous, Doctor. I want them discontinued immediately."

"With all due respect, Madame President, _Seeker is _currently subject to quarantine, so you are in no position to give me orders. I came here to negotiate in good faith on behalf of our population. The _Pegasus_ crew will settle for nothing less than a formal presidential pardon. This costs you nothing because none of these people were involved in the ongoing rape and torture of the Cylon prisoner, and they were not caught up in Cain's treasonous schemes. But they don't trust Admiral Adama; that's why I've been tasked to deal directly with you. As for the Sharons … they require even less. They will settle for forgiveness, Madame President—on the same terms that you have granted to every other Cylon in the fleet. It would, however, be a nice gesture on your part, and one that would be keenly appreciated, if you would extend full colonial citizenship to those Eights who are planning to marry their human partners."

"And would _your Sharon_ by any chance fall into this category?" There were daggers in Laura Roslin's eyes. "Are you going to marry the Eight?"

Gaius stared at the colonial president, and he could barely contain his glee. He had never forgotten the way the haughty bitch had sat outside his cell and convicted him of treason without so much as a hearing. There was no doubt in his mind that she had wanted to airlock him then, and still wanted to airlock him now. He decided to rub it in.

"We haven't had the time to discuss our future relationship, Madame President, but you may rest assured that Sharon and I will do whatever we think is in the best interest of our children. It is a pity that you have never had a meaningful relationship, much less conceived a child. One tends to become less self-absorbed … less selfish, shall we say … once children enter the equation. Isn't that right, Captain Adama?"

The question caught Lee completely by surprise, and it painted him into a corner from which there was no escape.

"That's right," Lee spat.

"You have our terms, Madame President, and I urge you to accept them. We are offering you a very good deal—an intact, fully armed baseship in exchange for a few symbolic and ultimately meaningless concessions on paper. I can tell you right now that any counteroffer you care to make will be rejected, and that we will drive a much stiffer bargain in future. Frankly, Colonel Hoshi's people aren't all that keen to serve under Adama anyway."

"It really doesn't bother you, does it Gaius? You play your silly games with the hybrid, setting off an emotional storm that washes over the fleet and does untold damage to our birth mothers and their babies …"

"You're missing the point, Madame President. The Cavils knew that John and Kara had returned to the Colonies. _They knew!_ You should be asking yourself how. Sharon and I pushed Zenobia to chase you down, and she did so with relative ease. Your feeble attempts to hide here in the nebula came to nothing. How hard do you think it's going to be for the Ones to find us?"

Baltar looked around the gathering, and savored the moment. He really was dealing with idiots.

"None of you seem to appreciate the danger that we're in. You know what Zenobia said at one point? _'You can run but you cannot hide'._ When Bierns networked the hybrids, for all practical purposes he was installing another CNP. It makes my program look primitive by comparison, but it is even more vulnerable to infiltration. The Cavils know where we are … you can bet on it. B_ut if you press them, our hybrids will be able to locate his! Why is it so hard for you to grasp that these creatures not only dominate the battlefield … they are the battlefield! _A baseship without its hybrid is just a large piece of junk drifting through space. So, we should go on the offensive, because right now we appear to have sufficient firepower to take the Ones out and end this war once and for all."

"Doctor," Apollo mildly responded, "it may surprise you to learn that we do periodically review our strategic options. We have talked about taking the war to the Cavils, but we can't leave the fleet unguarded. The best we could do, therefore, is dispatch three baseships, but in a head to head fight they would be heavily outnumbered. We have to find a safe haven for the civilian populace before we can even begin to think about mounting an offensive."

"Well, what about this planet inside the nebula? It's habitable, and it's supposed to be almost impossible to find."

Roslin snorted dismissively. "It's a rest stop … a place to load up on food and water. Everything in the mission report that our pilots submitted indicates that life on this planet would be hard."

"Doctor, there's no assurance, none whatsoever, that the Cavils don't already know about this planet." Natalie had been unable to shake some sixth sense warning her that the rift was a catastrophe waiting to happen. "They may stop here at regular intervals looking for us, but even if they don't, what's to prevent them from stumbling upon this world by accident? We did."

"I take your point, Commander, but wouldn't it also apply to Earth … to any world, really, where we might choose to settle? Is there any place in the galaxy that could be considered absolutely safe?"

"Gaius, if the Cavils were to pounce after we'd settled on the surface …"

"Yes, yes, Madame President, you don't have to repeat the obvious. They'd nuke us from orbit, send the centurions down to enslave us, or come up with something nastier still. Really, Laura, you make the case for carrying the war to them quite eloquently."

Baltar stood up, and made ready to leave. "We're going around in circles here. If there's nothing more, I need to get back to my baseship. The other hybrids have not been very welcoming, and poor Zenobia is quite upset. Sharon and I will do what we can to boost her spirits. The hybrid is also one of God's creatures, and she deserves better than she has received."

"Did I hear you say 'God', Gaius?" Natalie looked at him curiously. "Have you renounced the Lords of Kobol?"

"I have _never_ believed in the gods," Baltar sniffed. "No rational being would ever be taken in by the mumbo-jumbo offered up by our self-anointed priests. But a singular divinity- one who offers us unconditional love instead of demanding incense and sacrificial offerings in return- is another matter altogether. Yes, I have converted. My children will be raised in the faith of the One True God."

. . .

**Day 254 ACH (the Present Day)**

**10:30 Hours**

**The Cylon Baseship **_**Seeker**_

With an entire squad of heavily armed marines enveloping them, Saul Tigh and John Bierns strode rapidly down the corridor that led to the baseship's control room. Anyone with half a brain could drive a battlestar through the holes in Gaius Baltar's story, but the XO couldn't quarrel with the President's decision, announced ninety minutes earlier, to lift the quarantine and welcome the newcomers to the fleet. Laura Roslin had been singularly gracious, hosting a press conference in which she had magnanimously given the scientist her hand while thanking him for his extraordinary contributions to the human race, the fleet, and the alliance.

Saul Tigh also wanted to give Gaius Baltar a hand—in the form of a tightly closed fist that would loosen his teeth mere seconds before the toe of Tigh's boot ushered the slimy worm out the nearest available airlock. The XO was tired of getting his information at second hand. He was here to confront Baltar while the major tackled the hybrid. The two equally unhappy men were determined to get to the bottom of the nagging questions that surrounded this very odd ship.

Tigh stormed into the control room, only to step dead in his tracks. His eyes went wide with surprise.

"Well as I live and breathe … Danny Novacek. My gods … you made it. Good for you, Bulldog."

Saul pulled his long time friend close, and patted him on the back.

"Hey, Saul … it's good to see you again. How's Ellen?"

"She's fine; she made it too."

"Ah, that's good to hear. Tell me, after you abandoned me to the Cylons, did she go on to sleep with the other half of the fleet? Is she still the biggest lush ever to walk into Picon fleet HQ?"

"Come on, Danny …"

"All those years, eating pig slop twice a day, crapping into a bucket … you know what I kept telling myself, Saul? What stupid, frakked up dream I held onto? I kept thinking, 'just hold on, Bulldog. Bill Adama's coming. Bill and Saul, they won't leave you to rot in here, not them. They won't leave a man behind. _Just hold on'._"

A knife dropped from Danny Novacek's sleeve, settled comfortably into his hand, and he lashed out with one swift, underhanded stroke. The knife opened a path deep into the XO's small intestine, and then Bulldog sliced viciously up and to the left. Tigh's viscera erupted, and poured out onto the deck. He collapsed in Danny's arms.

"_But you weren't coming,"_ Bulldog screamed. "You didn't think that I was alive. Hell … you_ weren't even hoping that I was alive!"_

The marines hurled themselves on the long suffering pilot. One of them smashed the butt of his rifle into Novacek's head, instantly knocking him out.

"_Medic,"_ another marine screamed; _"we need a medic."_

"It's too late," Bierns yelled. He was kneeling at the colonel's side. Tigh's eyes were fixed and dilated, and the spook couldn't find a pulse.

"He's gone."

Bierns stood up, all thoughts of trying to pacify the hybrid now banished from his mind. "Tie him up," he ordered, "and somebody contact Natalie Six and tell her what's going on. And find Anders! I need to know where he is right, frakkin' now!"

Bierns rushed out into the corridor, only to find it suddenly swimming all around him.

"_Gods damn it,"_ he raged. Keeping his head down and cursing a steady stream of epithets to relieve his mounting sense of frustration, the First Born headed slowly off towards the Raptor that had brought his landing party to the baseship. _Thank the lord Zeus that we left the pilot on board because I'm so frakking useless that I can't even fly my own bird anymore!_

John had no idea how much time they had, but he knew for sure that Sam Anders would have to reach the resurrection ship before Saul Tigh downloaded, or all hell would break loose.

. . .

**Day 254 ACH (the Present Day)**

**14:00 Hours**

**Cylon Baseship**

**Reun's Chamber**

"Your husband needs you, Shelly, and the fleet needs its admiral. Colonel Tigh's murder on a baseship that was already under a cloud of suspicion has left Sonja Six in charge of _Galactica _and Natalie in complete control of the fleet."

"Deirdre … I don't understand. Why hasn't Bill resumed command?"

"Shelly, he refuses to leave your side. It's as if nothing matters to him anymore except you and the baby. He won't talk to anybody … he won't even talk to Lee."

"Then why hasn't Kara taken command of _Galactica_? She's the logical choice, and she's also next in line after Colonel Tigh."

"Right now, she's babysitting Natalie. Your sister is able, but she lacks the experience to cope effectively with so complex a situation. The fact that the President and the Vice-President are publicly throwing verbal darts at one another has paralyzed her. Shelly, you need to wake up. The fleet is rapidly losing confidence in its leadership; it needs Admiral Adama."


	46. Chapter 46: Who's There?

CHAPTER 46

WHO'S THERE?

**Two Days Earlier**

**12:30 Hours**

**The Cylon Baseship **_**Seeker**_

"Doctor, we may come from very different backgrounds, but there are two things that we can assuredly agree upon: Laura Roslin is a crazy, self-proclaimed prophet, and she's out to kill us both. The question is—what are we going to do about it?"

"I don't know, Tom, but quarantine or no quarantine, I gather that's why you're here." Baltar smiled at Sharon. "Tom Zarek is a devious and clever man, and twenty years in a Sagittaron prison honed his survival instincts to a razor's edge. And he's right about our feckless president. Laura Roslin lives on chamalla, and she's jealous … jealous of my intellect, my popularity with the people … hell, she's even jealous of my hair!"

"And with good reason, sweetheart." Sharon prayed nightly to the One True God that her sons would be blessed with their father's hair.

"Don't minimize the importance of hair in an election, Gaius. The candidate with the most attractive features and the best hair generally prevails. Voters want their president to be good looking."

"What are you talking about, Tom?"

"There's a presidential election coming up in less than a month. Roslin is vulnerable. A lot of people aren't comfortable with a leader who can't even go to the toilet without first swallowing chamalla and then paging through _Pythia_ to see if the gods will approve. And now that Anders has publicly admitted that the Thirteenth tribe was cylon, and that the earth they left behind two thousand years ago was a burnt-out cinder, support for Roslin has faded badly. But I can't beat her; in the public mind, I am and always will be the Sagittaron terrorist whose answer to every problem is another bombed-out government building."

"But you are a respected scientist, sweetheart." Sharon knew exactly why Zarek was here. "Gaius Baltar is a man of reason, a conciliatory voice … but also a brave man, who picked up a gun on Kobol and courageously fought off an entire squad of centurions …"

"Risking his own life to defend his beleaguered comrades," Zarek laughed. "Gods, Sharon, but you're a natural. You're going to make a great First Lady."

"Excuse me, but aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves here?"

"No, darling, we're not. Don't you see, Gaius? God's plan for us couldn't be more obvious. He brought us together and gave us children in preparation for this moment. We are the future- the human president and his cylon wife who will not only raise their own children with love but lay the foundations for a new world order." Sharon's eyes were blazing with conviction. "We will inspire our people to let go of the past and build in its stead a new society … one in which the age-old divides between man and machine cease to be of consequence …"

"Oh, you two have definitely got to get married," Zarek clapped. He hadn't factored a Cylon into his political calculus, but he was rerunning the numbers in his head, and he didn't see how Baltar could possibly lose. "And you have got to campaign as a team. Sharon, the D'Annas have made so much headway among the Gemenese that they will flock to you like moths to a flame, and with them every other monotheist in the fleet. The two of you will corral the votes of the cylon sympathizers, while Gaius gathers up the people who don't want scripture to be the basis for public policy. Together, you'll carry the religious vote and the rationalist!"

"Uh … Sharon … darling … have you forgotten what Zenobia said? You know … the bit about a trial that I survive only because Apollo swings it in my favor?"

"Gaius, don't be silly. The hybrid loves to talk in riddles; you know that better than anyone. Perhaps the trial to which she referred is this upcoming election. Perhaps it's Captain Adama's support that will win you the presidency. But even if we take her literally, in her vision _you do survive_."

"That's really not very comforting."

"What we need now is an issue," Zarek said as he paced around the chamber. He was deep in thought. "We need something that will put Roslin squarely on the wrong side of public opinion."

"That won't be a problem," Sharon smugly observed. "Darling, tell the nice man what President Roslin said about our new home."

"Our new home," Gaius repeated. He didn't have a clue what his Eight was talking about.

"New Caprica, sweetheart … you know … the planet inside the nebula that DRADIS somehow can't find."

"Oh … _that planet_," Baltar grinned. "Laura called it a rest area on the road to Earth … a place where we take on food and water—but we couldn't possibly settle there because Cavil's baseships visit the place six times a week searching for us."

"She said that," Zarek snapped.

Gaius just nodded.

"Then we've got her," the one-time terrorist triumphantly exclaimed. He pounded his fist into his palm. _"We've got her!"_

"Tom, it's my understanding that you are currently a delegate to the Quorum." Sharon accessed one of her more heavily visited subroutines and dialed up her most beguiling look. "How would you like to be our vice-president?"

"I have no greater ambition than to serve the will of the people," Zarek replied. He had repeated that particular lie so many times that it now came automatically to his lips. Prison had taught him many valuable lessons, not the least of them being the ability to fake sincerity.

"Good; that's settled." Sharon sized up the man's ambitions, and measured him for one of her sisters. "Do you by any chance have a cylon girlfriend?"

"No," Zarek confessed with feigned regret. To Sharon, the man reeked of insincerity, but she wanted her sons to lead the new generation of God's children, and to accomplish that end she was more than willing to bargain with a demon.

"In your case, I would suggest a Three. Our work with the hybrid has taught me a great deal about repressed sexuality, and I judge all of my older sisters to be volcanoes about to erupt. A D'Anna will be good for you, Tom … but, in any event, Gaius and I do not want people in our administration who do not openly support the blended society that we are going to bequeath to our children. Our vice-president must set a high personal standard … one that matches our own."

"There is a Three on the _Gemenon Traveller_ who'll do quite nicely," Zarek leered; "and I've been buttering her up for quite some time now. You're right, Sharon; it's time that the two of us took our relationship to the next level."

Zarek shook hands with his new political partners, and took his leave. As soon as he was gone, Sharon turned to confront Baltar.

"Now, Gaius, let's talk about our marriage," she said forcefully. . . .

Later, after they had made love, Baltar marveled at his good fortune. There was a deeply submissive side to his personality, into which Natasi had occasionally tapped. She had dominated him in bed, and those were the moments when he had come close to worshipping her. In the beginning, Sharon had been meek and subservient and, he had to admit, bending her to his will had brought him an emotional rush of the first order. Having a Cylon grovel at his feet had felt good—really, really good. But pregnancy had done something to her … perhaps activated a program that had previously been offline … and he suspected that this new and much more aggressive personality was the real Sharon. She was a tigress in bed, and he had no illusions about where their relationship was heading. When she said 'our administration', what she really meant was _'my administration'_. And Gaius also freely admitted that he didn't care. The only thing more boring than politics, in his opinion, was actually discharging the duties of public office. As long as Sharon humored his predilection for drugs and alcohol, and relieved him of the tedium of governance, for all he cared she could rule New Caprica with an iron fist.

. . .

**22:15 Hours, the Night Before**

_**Cloud Nine**_

**A Luxury Suite**

Tom Zarek lightly ran his fingernails down Playa Palacios' leg, and the reporter shivered with delight. For months she had been trying without success to seduce the Sagittaron delegate, and after her utter failure to make headway with the Six with no name, she had frankly wondered whether her looks had begun to fade. She never wore panties to Quorum meetings, and she had always positioned herself in the press box so that her target of the moment could take in her long legs and let his or her imagination run wild. The technique had snared Gaius Baltar, and a follow-up tryst in one of _Galactica's_ toilet stalls had climaxed in the biggest scoop of her journalistic career. Although they operated mostly behind the scenes, Playa was convinced that Zarek and the Six were part of what she had informally styled "the inner circle," a small and very select group of humans and Cylons who were the true movers and shakers in the fleet.

Zarek left a love bite on Playa's throat, and she moaned with what she hoped was a convincing display of passion. The king of the _Astral Queen_ was a truly inept lover, but she would do anything for a good story … _and besides_, she told herself, _you've got to make allowances, kiddo. The poor guy spent twenty years behind bars, and you definitely do not want to know what passes for sex in a Sagittaron jail. . . ._

Zarek grimaced involuntarily. Back on Sagittaron, he had got more action out of a bar of soap. _This is duty above and beyond the call,_ he mused; _a dead fish wiggles around more than this cunt._ But he gamely kept at it. . . .

"So, I understand that you ignored the quarantine order, and went to see Doctor Baltar yesterday." Playa nipped him on the shoulder … _hey … one good love bite deserves another_! "How is the fleet's favorite scientist? Does he still have that _dreamy_ hair that drives the Sixes wild?"

"Can you keep a secret," Tom teased. "The good doctor has fallen under the spell of an Eight."

"That's hardly news," Playa pouted. "He'd frak a Three if that was the only thing available." She missed the anger that flared in Zarek's eyes; was this Playa's unsubtle way of telling him that she was on to his whereabouts the previous night?

Tom decided to ignore the dig. "Yeah, but this Eight's the real deal … smart, beautiful, sexy … and somewhere along the way she's picked up some serious political skills. You should see her in action, Playa. In fact, _you can see her in action_. You heard it here first. The President's calling a press conference in the morning. She's going to welcome Baltar back to the fleet … all is forgiven … blah blah blah and more blah blah blah."

"Oh, gods … another Laura Roslin press conference. They're all so scripted I could puke."

"I hear you, but if you want to set off some fireworks, ask her whether we're going to settle on the planet they've been surveying inside the nebula. I guarantee you that will get a reaction."

Playa sat up, and started to pay serious attention. She knew that she was being played, but she couldn't have cared less. "Tom … why don't you just tell me what you know? I can put it on the wire a couple of minutes before things heat up on _Colonial One _… the old 'highly placed source who wishes to remain anonymous' routine."

"Not on your life, Playa," he grinned. "Just be there, ask your question, then sit back and enjoy. But I promise you that Sharon and Gaius will grant you an exclusive interview after the fact. McManus will be eating his heart out!"

. . .

**Day 254 ACH (the Present Day)**

**09:05 Hours**

_**Colonial One**_

"And so, ladies and gentlemen, in conclusion I would like once again to acknowledge Doctor Baltar's extraordinary range of achievements, and his many contributions to the Colonies—indeed, to the human race. It gives me great pleasure to see him returned once more to an honored place among us."

Laura Roslin looked around the room. The fourth estate had turned out in force. She recognized every face in the room, and she seriously doubted whether anyone was taking her rhetoric seriously. She wondered why so many people had turned up for such an empty and tedious event. _Perhaps, _she thought, _they just like to see me squirm._

"Everyone in the fleet," she continued, "should applaud not only the Vice-President but also the brave men and women of the battlestar _Pegasus_, who overcame their deep loyalty to a derelict ship in order to join us and resume the fight against cylon tyranny. But we should applaud no less the courage and vision of the cohort of Eights who have become our newest Cylon allies. Their generosity of spirit, and their collective refusal to succumb to hatreds that daily threaten to consume us all, will strengthen our joint commitment to this alliance even as their baseship enhances our security. Doctor Baltar, to you and to all those who sail with you, I say: welcome home."

The press corps erupted in polite applause, and Gaius waited patiently for the ruckus to die down.

"Thank you, Madame President, for those most gracious words. Sharon and I both wish to thank you on behalf of the men and women of _Seeker_ … _and_ …"

Baltar paused for dramatic effect.

"We would also like to take this opportunity to invite you … to invite all of you … to dance at our wedding."

The announcement set off an uproar among the reporters, who surged forward, clamoring for recognition. Sharon caught the eye of a well-dressed woman, who appeared to be a somewhat older version of her own model. "Do you have a question," she asked.

"Yes," the lady replied. "Is the rumor currently making its way around the fleet true? Are you pregnant?"

Sharon reached for Gaius' hand, and gazed adoringly into his eyes. Zarek had anticipated this question, and given her detailed instructions on how to handle it.

"It's true," she said proudly. "I'm carrying twins. Gaius and I are going to have two fine sons."

The admission set off still another uproar. "Have you picked out names yet," someone shouted.

"We've decided to name the boys after my paternal grandparents, Romulus and Rima Baltar."

"Madam President, I have a question for you," Playa shouted.

"Go ahead, Playa."

"Are we going to settle on the planet inside the nebula that some people in the fleet are already calling New Caprica?"

"No, we're not. It's a harsh planet, offering conditions comparable to those on Aquaria. The vast majority of the planetary surface will not support human life, and our survey team found no evidence of tylium anywhere in the stellar neighborhood. Commander Six has also repeatedly warned me that the Cavils may very well know about this planet, and regularly dispatch patrols to check for our presence there. We will accordingly be stopping only long enough to top off our water supply and hunt for game. We will then resume the search for Earth."

"But Sam Anders says that Earth is a radioactive wasteland."

"No, that's not true. What Mr. Anders has told us is that a nuclear war ravaged the surface of the planet more than two thousand years ago. Earth may have fully recovered in the interim, and once again be fully capable of sustaining human and cylon life."

"May I respond to your question as well, Playa?"

The reporters all trained their microphones on Gaius Baltar.

"I'm a scientist, and I would like to think that I know something about this subject. I have listened carefully to Mr. Anders' account of the nuclear attacks, which the Final Five were able to observe from a ship orbiting the planet. Based upon his description of the number, type, and scale of the weapons involved, it is my considered opinion that Earth's water and food chain remain contaminated to a degree that would prove lethal to human life. Simply stated, the planet remains uninhabitable."

The reporters pressed still closer to the podium, and the uproar yielded to full-blown pandemonium.

"If I may have your attention," Baltar shouted as he raised his arms, gesturing for attention.

"The President and I also fundamentally disagree about the possibility of settlement on New Caprica. It is true that life there would not be easy, and I have no doubt that she has made her decision to press on in the search for Earth in good faith. But I cannot in good conscience support her position in this matter. The planet offers real air to breathe, and real grass to feel beneath our feet. More than anything else, however, it offers us a chance to start living our lives instead of going on forever running from them."

"What about the Cylons," Sekou Hamilton yelled.

"It's true … the Cavils may already know about this world. But let me ask you: is there any world in the galaxy that is beyond their reach?"

"The Eights agree," Sharon called out. "We cannot go on being forever afraid of our own shadows. New Caprica gives us all a chance to start over … to build a world that is free of prejudice, and of the fear that is born from ignorance. A generation from now, our children won't care whether they're human or hybrid, and they will thank us for this."

"As the Vice-President," Gaius went on, "I am bound to follow the administration's lead on matters of policy. But Sharon and I feel so passionately about this question that I would no longer seem to have any choice in the matter. Given the current impasse, I'm afraid that I have no alternative but to announce that I am, as of this moment, a candidate for the presidency." Out of the corner of his eye, Baltar saw Laura Roslin angrily pass through the curtain that shielded her office from the outside world. A triumphant smile crept across his face, though he struggled hard to suppress it.

"Our platform is simple," Gaius soberly concluded; "a new world, a new society, and a military strong enough to carry the fight to the Cavils and put an end to the threat that overshadows everything we hope to achieve. I want my sons … I want all of our sons and daughters … to grow up in a world that will never know the ugly face of war."

. . .

**Day 254 ACH (the Present Day)**

**14:20 Hours**

**Cylon Baseship**

**Reun's Chamber**

"_You frakking son of a bitch! My husband's dead! Saul's dead because the almighty Bill Adama can't get up off his frakkin' knees long enough to do his gods damned frakking job! You stupid, selfish bastard … he had to do your job for you, and now he's dead!"_

"Ellen, what are you doing here? How did you get here?"

"_Who gives a frak? Danny Novacek … you left Danny out there, Bill; you didn't know whether he was alive or dead. Hell, he was one of your closest friends, but you didn't even care! You were so busy covering your ass that you never even asked yourself whether the Cylons might have captured him. You lousy, frakking son of a bitch!"_

Ellen Tigh slapped Adama, and she poured every ounce of the rage that was consuming her into the blow. The admiral was on his knees, keeping his solitary vigil for his wife, and his head whipped to the side. She slapped him over and over again, but he made no effort to defend himself.

"For all those years," he whispered when she finally relented, "I kept telling myself that I didn't know who they were. I wanted to believe the cover story, wanted to believe that Danny was dead … that it really was Tauron miners. But I was just lying to myself … pretending that it couldn't be true."

Bill hung his head in shame. Danny had come back from the dead, and he couldn't hide from the truth—not anymore. A part of him prayed that Ellen had Saul's gun, and that she'd use it.

"_Damn you, Bill …"_

"But it is true," he confessed. "I started it … initiated it …"

"_Damn you all to hell!"_

"By crossing the Line, I showed the Cylons that we were the warmongers they figured us to be. And I … I left them with but one choice—to attack us before we attacked them."

"And this is your penance? Frakking a toaster … pretending to fall in love … _marrying her_? I'll see you in hell, Bill; I swear to the gods, if it's the last thing I ever do, I'll spit on your grave."

"Ellen, stop it," a quiet voice said behind her.

Adama's head shot up, and Ellen twisted around, her body already going into shock.

"_Saul,"_ she said disbelievingly. She looked at her husband, who was flanked by Sam Anders and John Bierns. A large throng of Cylons was gathered behind them, their faces likewise a study in disbelief.

"_No," _she shook her head; _"no, no … it can't be … no …" _She started to cry hysterically as she blindly backed away from the entrance to the hybrid's chamber.

"_The maker and the makers, the children and the child,_" Reun observed as Shelly began to stir in her arms. _"The slope is steep, and unwitting, washes all out to sea. Roiling foam drags them down, a mass of confusion at every turn. . . ."_

"Saul … my gods …" Bill had somehow stumbled to his feet; his first thought was that the Furies had finally come round to task him for his sins.

"It's true, Ellen." Saul Tigh was oblivious to everything and everyone except his wife. "We're Cylons. We have been from the beginning."

"_No," _Ellen continued to chant, her eyes tightly shut as if that would somehow ward off the nightmare. Mercifully, she never saw the gun in Bierns' hand, never flinched as the bullet tore into her brain.

Another shock wave rolled around the chamber. Ellen Tigh lay dead on the floor at the admiral's feet, and Adama looked at Bierns as if the major had lost his mind.

D'Anna was the first to recover. She gently removed the gun from the First Born's unresisting fingers.

"Child," she scolded, "will you ever learn that you simply can't go around shooting people whenever you feel like it? I'm very disappointed in you."

"I'm sorry, Aunt Three, but I can't say that I ever cared for this version of Ellen Tigh. She was vain, petty, spiteful, selfish, and manipulative—the quintessential bitch … Cavil's bitch. Hopefully, cylon Ellen will be less of a shrew. Now, if you'll give me back my gun, I'll go shoot the other two and we can wrap this up."

It was at this point that Saul Tigh and Bill Adama fell into one another's arms, and started laughing hysterically in their own right.

Natalie Faust gaped at the scene unfolding in front of her. The First Born had just shot her cylon mother in the head, and D'Anna was treating him like a four year old who had been caught throwing rocks through a neighbor's window. Her cylon father was holding on to her human brother-in-law, the closest of friends who in a previous cycle might well have been the deadliest of enemies. She carefully avoided looking in Leoben's direction because she already knew what he was going say at the first opportunity. Natalie once more vowed to take up drinking, but it belatedly occurred to her that papa Saul might object to teaching his daughter the finer points of getting drunk. _It's time,_ she decided. _I'm really going to have to find myself a human boyfriend … or girlfriend. And it's not like I'm all that picky. So long as Pyrrha approves, anyone will do. I wonder if Racetrack's still available …_

. . .

Ellen was pulled into the vortex, the stars racing past at velocities far exceeding the speed of light. Isolated fragments of memory came and went unbidden, until suddenly she realized that she was drowning. She struggled to the surface, choking and screaming in one and the same breath.

"_No … oh, God, no," _she wailed, the sound panicked and despairing. It echoed off the walls of the resurrection chamber, mocking her, tearing the breath from her lungs. She remembered it all now—the retreat across the face of the Colony … Cavil's centurions hunting them down … the U87's falling like scythed wheat all around them. She could hear John's voice in her mind, gloating triumphantly, telling her in sadistic detail what he was planning to do to her beloved daughters … how D'Anna, Phryne and Sharon would be made to serve the master plan.

"Ellen, it's going to be okay …"

_Saul._

"Mama, you have to breathe … take deep breaths, mama …"

_My children! My babies!_

Ellen willed herself to open her eyes. Saul was leaning over the side of the tank, his concern for her written all over his face. Two of the nursing Eights were hovering in the shadows, and Ellen's heart leapt into her throat.

"_My babies," _she sobbed; _"my poor, poor babies!"_

"Mama …"

"I'm so sorry," Ellen sobbed. "It all went so terribly wrong. Oh, God, everything went so terribly wrong."

"It's not your fault, mama," one of the Eights soothed. "Papa Sam told us everything … how Cavil betrayed you … how he corrupted everything …"

"Ellen, can you stand? Do you need help?" She could hear the anxiety in Saul's voice.

"_My babies," _she cried again; "oh, God, Saul … the things that he was going to do to our little girls …"

"He did it, Ellen—everything that John said he was going to do … he did it. It's all in the stream … our grandson's memories … he did it."

"It's the one absolute rule, mama. Every Cylon has to go into the stream and download our child's memories. We have lived the betrayal, mama; it is seared into our consciousness, and we will not rest until we have exterminated the Ones. Our sisters … our babies … they will be avenged."

"Kara and John … where are my grandchildren?"

"John's waiting outside. He wants to apologize … for shooting you in the head."

"I wondered how I got here," Ellen sheepishly confessed. "The poor boy … well, let's not keep him waiting. Bring him in."

"Uh … Ellen … a lot of the children are waiting outside. They wanted to give you time … to get dressed."

"Oh, I see." Ellen looked down, and for the first time realized that the only thing covering her was a thin layer of goo. She stood up, and stepped out of the tank. The room started to spin, and the Eights were instantly there to steady her.

"Thank you," she said. "I'd forgotten how disorienting this whole experience can be."

"I fell flat on my face," Saul confessed. "But then, it's been over two thousand years since the last time." He handed her a thick towel, and she began to attack the goop. It took long minutes to get the gel out of her hair.

"Papa Saul brought clothes for you, mama. Do you want us to help you dress?"

Ellen smiled affectionately at her daughter, and lovingly ran her fingers through her hair. "So beautiful," she whispered; "my little girls were always so beautiful." She straightened up, and a determined look washed across her features. "I'm made of sterner stuff than papa," she teased; "I think I can dress myself."

When she finished, Saul approached the entrance, and beckoned the children to enter.

"Leoben … _Simon_! Oh, how this brings back memories. You are exactly as I remember you."

"Mother …"

"And you must be Giana," Ellen said to the heavily pregnant human female at Simon's side. "I know that we've never met, and I hope that you'll forgive me. The old Ellen was far too busy plotting ways to advance her husband's career to show any interest in others, but I want to be there for you when my grandson is born. The five of us dreamed of this. You and Simon have the lives that we wanted for all of our children."

"Mrs. Tigh …"

"Oh, please … call me Ellen."

"Ellen, Simon and I hope that you and Colonel Tigh will both take an interest in Sherman. Among humans, it's a time-honored tradition for grandparents to spoil their grandchildren rotten."

"It was the same way on Earth, dear. I can assure you that Cylons make good parents and grandparents."

"_Lee,"_ she exclaimed. "I didn't expect to find you here! And this must be Creusa! Oh, just look at you … so beautiful, and so pregnant! You're absolutely glowing! Thank you, Lee … thank you for being so wonderful to my daughter."

"It's all happening, Ellen," Sam Anders observed with a deep sense of personal satisfaction. "Right here in the fleet—despite John's efforts to destroy the dream, everything that we ever wanted for our children is happening right here in the fleet."

"You were right, Sam … about John. I should have listened to you …"

"He's in over his head, Ellen, and he's made terrible mistakes. He was never all that good with software, not like Aaron. John tried to merge programs, but he badly misjudged the intensity of feeling with which you gifted our daughters. He should never have used the Sixes and Eights as infiltrators because interacting with humans triggered their base programming. His errors led straight to Boomer and Caprica, and all the others who turned against his mad scheme for galactic conquest."

"You've never met Caprica," Sam said as he wrapped his arm around her waist. "Does she remind you of anyone?"

"Phryne," Ellen whispered automatically. "You look so much like the first Six … like my beloved Phryne."

"She's still out there, Ellen. John believes that Cavil boxed her … that he boxed them all."

"And we're going to bring them home," John Bierns stated unequivocally. "Kara's mother … mine … all the people that we've ever lost … we're going to find them, and we're going to bring them home. Cavil will try to stop us, and that's when I'm going to put a bullet in his brain and finish this war once and for all."

Ellen Tigh looked at her grandson, and then she closed her eyes and nodded her head, the memories overwhelming her.

"Yes, I can see it … I can hear her in your voice. Truly, John, you are D'Anna's child … stubborn … precocious … but an idealist. She never gave a thought to herself; for your mother, family was everything."

"She was strong, grandmother … I think much stronger than you realize. She fought back with the only weapon at her disposal—her son. She instilled in me a deep love of family, but she also gave me a powerful sense of purpose. She wanted me to avenge her … to avenge you … and I'm going to do it. I would love to walk away from this war, leave the fighting to somebody else—but I can't. Together, Kara and I will see this through."

"Bring them home, John … all of them. That's my charge to you: bring my children home."

"I will, grandmother … and I apologize for shooting you. You were very distraught, and it was obvious that you had sensed the truth. This seemed the best way …"

"Think nothing of it."

"You are John's wife," Ellen added, turning her attention to the Eight standing at his side.

"Yes, mother … and my name is Sharon."

"Of course," Ellen murmured, "of course." Then she looked her daughter squarely in the eye. "I want you to protect my grandson … at all costs. Do you understand me? Do not let anyone harm him."

"I won't, mama; I swear it. I'm an Eight," she said proudly. "For us, family is still everything. We will always protect our husbands and children—always. We are what you wanted us to be."

. . .

"Good morning, papa," Dionysia and Rhodope sang out together. Their eyes were alive with mischief.

"Good morning," Saul growled in return. He headed straight for his usual perch beneath the central DRADIS console.

"Gods, Bill, but it's good to have you back. If there's anything that Natalie and I have learned over the last few days, it's that we can't do your job. This place really is a zoo. How's Shelly," he asked in a soft voice.

"She's moving around, and nurse Karanis tells me that's a good sign. Bierns says that she's okay. Apparently, she's knee deep in conversation with the hybrids, getting prepared for the next leg of her journey … whatever that means."

"So, you and Bierns are on speaking terms again?"

"Yeah, I'd say that we're just about even. Saul, your daughter packs a mean right cross. If the centurions hadn't pulled her off me, I swear that Sharon would have turned my head into a mixing bowl. What a war. Now centurions are saving humans from Cylons."

"Makes a guy long for the good old days, doesn't it? You know, when up was up and down was down, and everything made sense. Now, it turns out that I'm a Cylon and you're my son-in-law … which reminds me. From now on, I want you to show a little respect."

"Fat chance, Colonel," Adama grinned; "fat chance."

"Good morning, gramps," Kara Thrace called out as she breezed into the CIC.

"Kara, don't start," Tigh warned. He could hear amused chuckles all around him.

"What are you going to do, grandpa … send me to bed without my supper?" Kara was really enjoying herself; she hadn't had this much fun in years.

"More like take away your bottle," the XO spat. "And that goes for all of you," he added as his gaze swept from one cylon face in the CIC to the next. "Your mother and I are planning to have a little talk with all of you about alcohol and drugs," he warned. "This will be one of those conversations where we do the talking and you do the listening."

This elicited another round of laughter, only this time it was much more boisterous. Even Adama joined in.

"What," Saul roared.

"Let's face it, Colonel; it's going to take your shipmates a certain amount of time to come to terms with Saul Tigh, the protective and loving father."

"Gods, Bill, you're right. Am I ever going to live this down?"

"Not likely, gramps," Kara wickedly cut in; "in fact, things around here are bound to get a bit more awkward, seeing as how you promised to tutor Natalie in the fine art of getting drunk."

"I did, did I? Well, we'll just see about that!"

"Papa, we never use drugs or alcohol," D'Anna proudly announced. "But our brothers …"

"Yeah, gramps … what are you going to do about the Twos? Have they always been naughty little boys?" Kara really was having the time of her life.

"Kara, is there something that you want, or did you just drop by to irritate me?"

"Survey reports," Kara replied as she dropped a thick file on the console. "If Baltar wins the election, we're gonna end up living on this rock, so I've been up half the night trying to figure out where we should settle." She pulled out a photograph, and drew their attention to an area that she had circled. "This is the largest river on the planet, and it fans out into a broad alluvial plain in the delta region. It's got good agricultural potential, and Colonel Phillips and his crew should be able to dam the river and install generators to supply us with electricity. Inside a year, we should have all the comforts of home."

"This is good, Colonel; thank you." Adama was glad to see Kara Thrace back on her feet. "You feeling okay," he asked cautiously.

"Right as rain, sir … although I do think that this new hybrid of ours might benefit from Colonel Tigh's lecture on booze and drugs. She's really off the wall."

"Hey, we didn't come up with the hybrids," Saul protested. "They're Cavil's pets, not ours."

"Yeah, well, now they're our responsibility. And they are my sisters," she pointedly reminded him.

"So, admiral, sir … who are we supposed to vote for in the election?"

"I'm going to sit this one out, Kara. I share Roslin's concerns about our vulnerability to a cylon attack, but on those rare occasions when Baltar can be bothered to get his fingers out of his ass, he really is a very good scientist. If he thinks that Earth is still likely to be a radioactive cinder, I'm inclined to take him seriously. New Caprica may not be much, but at the moment it's the only game in town. We could do a lot worse."

"How about splitting the difference? We settle here, but we send out scouts on long-range missions to look for a more palatable alternative?"

"It all depends on the election, Kara. But if Doctor Baltar wins, that's exactly what I have in mind."

. . .

"Madam President, you've read the captains' reports. Every civilian ship in the fleet has people begging … pleading … actually demanding time on the surface, even if it's only for a few hours. If we don't give in to their demands, we'll have riots on our hands. You can sound out Admiral Adama, but I don't think he's going to risk a repeat of the _Gideon _incident. If you ask the military to assist with crowd control, he'll turn you down … politely, but firmly."

"A few hours is one thing, Tory, but permanent settlement? No … that's out of the question."

"But once people are down on the surface," Billy Keikeya asked, "how are you going to get them off? At gunpoint? Or will you simply threaten to leave them behind if they don't return to their ships?"

Roslin looked at her young advisor through narrowed eyes. "Billy, I know that you're in love with an Eight, and I know that the Eights all want to settle here and start having babies by the boatload, but use your head. New Caprica is not a resource rich environment. Yes, the planet can sustain our current population, but I'm thinking about the future. Wherever we settle, our numbers are going to explode. Will your children prosper here? Will your grandchildren flourish? The answer is no."

"Madam President, while you're thinking about the future, the people are thinking about the present!" Tory's frustration was growing more evident by the second. "Baltar is holding out hope of breathing real air, growing real food, sleeping in a bed instead of a bunk, living in a house instead of a ship …"

"It's a fantasy," Roslin scornfully objected.

"Perhaps, but it's a fantasy that Sharon Baltar is pushing with the zeal and conviction of a true believer." Coming as it did in the midst of a heated political campaign, Baltar's marriage to a Cylon had dominated the news cycle for days. The young couple had captured the fleet's imagination, and Sharon's confident command of the public arena had taken the Roslin camp completely by surprise. Sharon was a superb public speaker, her every word spoken from the heart, and she had wrapped up the monotheist vote and delivered it to her husband on a silver platter. With the Gemenese now firmly in Baltar's camp, the pundits had pronounced the election too close to call.

"Today's snap polls also show that he's continuing to make headway with the idea that New Caprica will provide a refuge from the Cavils because the planet is hidden in the nebula. Baltar's dressing up the argument in the usual scientific gobbledygook, but it's Sharon who's really hurting us. She's out there, hour after hour, telling the people that Cylon DRADIS isn't up to the task of finding us. She's telling them exactly what they want to hear, and they're swallowing it whole. Madam President, you need to understand that the voters _want_ to believe her."

"This is utterly bizarre," Laura complained. "Why don't the people simply elect Sharon to the presidency and be done with it?"

"Madam President …"

Roslin glared at her aide, and threw her hands into the air in disgust. "Gods, what are the voters thinking? What is Baltar promising them … rivers flowing with milk and honey? How many more times do I have to say it? Conditions on this world are brutal!"

"Baltar is offering them what they want to hear," Billy observed. "You're offering them a bitter reality."

"I'm offering them the truth."

"With all due respect, Madam President, they don't want to hear the truth. The people are tired, and they've long since reached the breaking point. You said it yourself in the aftermath of the riots: we have to find a place to settle, and we need to do it before people are once again at each other's throats."

"The Baltars are offering the voters a positive vision of the future. They're appealing to people's hopes while you sit back and pander to their fears." Tory had saved her best shot for last. "In my experience, Madam President, the people always vote their hopes, not their fears. The idea of stopping here, laying down our burdens, starting a new life right now rather than waiting for a tomorrow that may never come … this is what is resonating with the voters."

"Let's cut to the chase. How well is it resonating?"

"The election is turning against us. If you don't publicly come out in support of at least temporary settlement on New Caprica, Baltar will win. He may well win in a landslide."

"Tory, I won't jeopardize the safety of this fleet just to win an election. That's unconscionable!"

"Then you should start packing your bags, Madam President, and likewise give some thought to your post-presidential career. Unless Baltar falls flat on his face in the last debate, in a few more days he will become the president-elect."

. . .

"Careful, dad; don't spill it!"

Adama smiled, and shakily continued to pour whiskey into Lee's glass. It sloshed about, but by some miracle didn't end up on the floor.

"Here's to the newest father in the fleet," Bill said as he raised his glass in a drunken toast. "Lieutenant Karl Agathon."

"_To Helo,"_ the others echoed in an equally drunken chorus of voices.

"And here's to my granddaughter," Saul shouted, "the newest citizen in the fleet!"

"_To Hera," _they all shouted.

"Hey," Karl suggested, "shouldn't we toast Sharon? After all, she's the one who did all the work."

"_To Sharon,"_ they all heartily agreed. Bill once again had to make his way around his quarters, pouring more whiskey into the once again mostly empty glasses.

"Bill, what the hell are you doing here? Why aren't you over there holding Shelly's hand?"

"The major's right, dad; we don't need any help drinking your whiskey."

"Cottle kicked me out," Adama admitted with a grin. "The whole damn ship was crawling with Cylons. They came in from everywhere in the fleet, looking to get their hand into the stream … to be a part of the moment. The doc wanted all the birth mothers to have some privacy … and who can blame him? What with Sharon going into labor so early, he's right to be concerned."

"That's funny," Bierns said as he raised his glass in a mock salute. "I would have sworn that I heard your wife order you to go out and get drunk. Anyway …"

"Anyway," Lee noted with a laugh, "here we are. The only thing that surprises me is that Karl made it out of there in one piece. _'Helo, I swear to God … if you ever come near me again, I'm going to rip your balls off'? _That's gotta be one of the best lines I've ever heard!"

"Hey, guys, come on … okay? Cut Sharon some slack. Hera may be a little undersized, but it still must have felt like giving birth to a beachball."

"Oh, yeah, Helo … you were just oozing sympathy. How did you put it?" Anders took a drink of his whiskey, and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Something along the lines of … _'don't you want Hera to have a baby brother or a baby sister'?_"

"Don't forget the tag line," Lee hooted. "_'Honey, don't worry, we'll be back here again in another two and a half years or so'? _That's the only time Sharon actually took her hand out of the stream. If she hadn't had another contraction at just that moment, she was so mad that she would have climbed out of the tub and put your head through the wall!"

"All of which climaxed in the best line of the day," Anders laughed. _"Come on, Sharon: let's have less talk and more pushing'. _Man, I swear, that Larissa Karanis is one tough lady. It's no wonder she doesn't have a boyfriend. She even scares me!"

"Did you see how big the Eights' eyes got when Hera's head finally popped out?" Bill rolled the whiskey around in his mouth, savoring the memory. "They reminded me of grasshoppers. And when the nurse swatted Hera on her tiny little behind, earned that first big yelp for her efforts, and handed her over to her mother …"

"You could see their hearts melting right on the spot," Saul finished. "One thing's for sure," he chuckled, "my granddaughter is not going to lack for attention."

"You were born, right, Saul?

"What?"

"You were born," Adama repeated.

"Yeah, sure … back on Earth. Of course, I don't remember any of it- not like my grandson here- but yeah, we went through the whole, messy biological process, same as anybody else."

"That wasn't very machine-like of you," Bill chortled as he downed some more whiskey.

"Hey, great grandpa was a power sander," Saul exclaimed.

"And my great grandmother, on the maternal side, was a drill press," Sam threw in.

"Hey, guys, you wanna keep this stuff to yourself," Lee slurred. "The power sander bit's okay, but Kara really fancies the idea of being descended from a chain saw. You don't want to take that away from her."

"You know who I feel sorry for in all of this," Bierns asked as he looked around the room. "Laura Roslin. The election's in two weeks, and Sharon gives birth to this beautiful little girl. No antennae sticking out of her head, no data ports in her arm … just this beautiful little angel. Now the Baltars are gonna go around claiming that it's a sign from god … the gods … whatever … that we're all supposed to settle on New Caprica and have kids. It's all my Sharon wants to talk about—getting to know her parents … raising our family. She hasn't brought up the house with a white picket fence yet, but it's just a matter of time. Hera's birth may well put Gaius over the top."

"Creusa's the same way," Lee said as he nodded in agreement. "She wants me to give up being CAG as soon as I can find a replacement. She's already decided that we're going to move down to the surface and have our baby there. What about you, dad? What's Shelly want to do?"

"It's funny that you should ask," Bill sighed. "Just before she kicked me out, we were talking it over. We've decided that I'll hang on as the admiral, but only until we get a better handle on what the Cavils are up to. If they don't show up in six months or so, I'm planning on retiring. Oddly enough, Lee, it's been my intention to nominate you to take over as commander of the fleet."

"I hate to rain on everybody's parade," Saul gruffly pointed out, "but if we all retire, who the hell's gonna fight the war? Some of us have made promises." Tigh looked directly at John Bierns. "Some of us have made a lot of promises about seeing this war through to the bitter end."

"And I'll keep them, Saul." John made no attempt to break eye contact with the XO. "Baltar's right. So long as the Cavils are out there, it's all pie in the sky."

. . .

"Gaius, do you know someone named Tory Foster?"

"Vaguely," he replied after giving it a moment's thought. "She works for Roslin in some capacity or other. If she has an official title, it's probably something like Assistant to the President."

"Exactly," Sharon agreed as she rested her chin on her husband's chest. "She seems to be the President's personal secretary, as well as her chief political advisor. Rebecca describes her as a factotum."

"Rebecca? You mean the Eight who's sleeping with Billy Keikeya?"

"That's right. Tory went over to the resurrection ship late yesterday afternoon, while Billy was still hard at work on _Colonial One_. She wanted to have a private conversation with my sister."

"Ah … the plot thickens!"

"Miss Foster wanted to talk about our plans for after the election. She expressed a keen interest in staying on as a presidential advisor. She apparently sees herself as a dedicated public servant."

"Yes, well, we can never have enough of those," Baltar caustically remarked. "What's she selling?"

"Sweetheart, she sees us as visionaries who will lead our people into a peaceful and prosperous future. She wants to help us build our new world."

"Oh, give it a rest."

"Well, she did mention that she's helped the President formulate her talking points for the last debate. She claims that one of them could very well decide the outcome of the election."

"I see. And she's willing to give us a peek in return for a job in my administration."

"A seasoned political advisor would be of help to us, Gaius. I don't trust Tom Zarek; the man is too accommodating. I've asked Three to keep an eye on him … a very close eye."

"You make an excellent point … Zarek is altogether too shifty for my liking." Gaius quickly came to a decision.

"Tell Rebecca quietly to pass the word to Tory. She has my verbal assurance that she can stay on as Assistant to the President, but only if she gives us enough information to blunt Roslin's tactics. If you think that it would bring your sister firmly into our camp, you can also suggest that we'll need a press secretary, and that we both think Billy Keikeya is far and away the most qualified candidate for the position. The public likes smooth transitions, so keeping a couple of Roslin's senior staff in highly visible public positions will also serve us well."

Sharon kissed her husband, and ran her fingers lightly over his chest. The air was suddenly thick with her pheromones, and Gaius just as quickly aroused. He was a superb lover, and she truly treasured him, but she also gloried in the knowledge that she possessed Gaius Baltar body and soul.

. . .

"Madam President, you have thirty seconds to respond."

"Well, Jim, my initial response is … there he goes again. Once again, ladies and gentlemen, Doctor Baltar is distorting the real issues before us. The issue here- the real question- is not allowing the scriptures to dictate the policy of this government. The question is: do the scriptures contain real-world relevance? Do they contain the information necessary to guide us to a safer home than some completely unknown planet that we've just recently discovered? Obviously, my answer to that question is yes. I have always and will continue to feel that the scriptures hold real-world relevance."

McManus politely turned his attention to Gaius Baltar. "Mr. Vice-President, the next question is for you. How do you respond to the charges that you have seized upon the idea of permanent settlement on this planet as an opportunistic gamble? Some would say that it's to be construed as a desperate move on the part of a campaign that at the time was trailing badly in every poll."

"Well … you know … that is … uh … that is an excellent question, Jim. Thank you for raising it. I'm only too glad to have the opportunity to respond to it. You see, I have long been a proponent of the search for Earth. But we cannot ignore the testimony of Samuel Anders, which has now been confirmed by Ellen and Saul Tigh. Any competent scientist will tell you that the radiation released by the nuclear weapons which devastated the surface of the planet two millennia ago is still present, and at levels that would quickly prove fatal to any human being. Scripture, which is by its very nature ambiguous, and outright wishful thinking, cannot take precedence over scientific fact. Nor can we ignore the cold, hard reality that the Cylons continue to follow us, as they have done every step of the way since the destruction of the Colonies. If we have a chance to change this dynamic … to stop this deadly chase … shouldn't we take it? My answer is yes. The nebula will shield us from the Cavils—it may well be the only habitable world in the galaxy that will do so."

"I have to respond to that," Roslin interrupted. "I simply have to respond to that. The Cavils aren't following the fleet; they are pursuing the hybrid network that is centered on Major Bierns and Colonel Thrace. There is no evidence, _none whatsoever_, that the nebula will hide them from Cylon detection. Quite the contrary, we all need to keep in mind that Zenobia had no difficulty finding the fleet when it was travelling within the nebula's outer fringe."

"Mr. Vice-President, I'll give you thirty seconds to respond."

Baltar smiled triumphantly at his wife, and nodded at Zarek. This was the trap about which Tory Foster had warned them, and Gaius was about to reverse it. The presidency was now firmly in his grasp.

"The President is absolutely right. I have worked extensively with the hybrid Zenobia, and I have come to appreciate the danger that these pitiful and innocent creatures pose to the fleet. But the President is also right in stressing that it is not the hybrids individually but the hybrid network that endangers us. Recently, I have spoken at length with Major Bierns about this very issue, and we have come to an agreement. He has offered to dismantle the network, and have each hybrid return to the business of administering her baseship in isolation from the others. But this is an unspeakably cruel solution, and one that we cannot expect to impose on the many hybrid children who will soon enter our world. No … there is only one viable, long-term solution: we must carry the war to the Cavils, and end the threat to us at its source. As President, therefore, I will issue three directives to Admiral Adama. See to the safety of New Caprica. Send out long-range exploration teams to locate other habitable worlds. Find the Cavils and destroy them. We cannot hope to achieve the latter objective without the full and enthusiastic cooperation of Major Bierns and Colonel Thrace, and I am here to tell you tonight that they are eager to resume the fight."

"Thank you, Mr. Vice-President … Madam President. This concludes the cycle of the debates for the presidency. The polls will open in three days. Please vote. This is James McManus, wishing everyone a good night."

Baltar wandered across the deck, and offered his hand to Laura Roslin. "I guess it just wasn't your night," he said in his most condescending tone.

"Why don't you go frak yourself," Laura angrily replied.

"Oh, Sharon does for me quite nicely," Gaius smirked. "You know, Laura, all of this repressed sexual tension really isn't good for your health. Would you like Sharon to set you up with a Two? I'm sure that we could arrange for at least one of them to service you."

Oblivious to the cameras going off all around them, Laura Roslin gave vent to her anger and frustration and slapped Baltar as hard as she could. The following morning, the photo made the front page of every newsletter in the fleet. During the course of the long hours that followed, Laura Roslin didn't need a pollster to tell her that the presidency was rapidly slipping beyond her reach.


	47. Chapter 47: A New Beginning

**The last 2 scenes of this chapter build upon events in chapter 23 of season 2. Readers who have not yet read the earlier chapter are encouraged to do so before proceeding.**

CHAPTER 47

A NEW BEGINNING

"You look pensive, Bill. Is anything the matter?"

Adama looked at his wife, and at their two dinner guests, and shrugged.

"Any minute now, I'm going to wake up, and find myself in the infirmary. Sharon punched my lights out, and Ellen slapped me silly. I must have suffered a concussion, or perhaps I'm having a drug induced hallucination. Because," Bill said as he paused to take a sip of wine, "the alternative is to accept that I'm having dinner with three Cylons, one of them being my XO. That's a little hard to take."

"Bill, I'm sorry that I slapped you around, and even more sorry for the things that I said." Ellen Tigh had a distinctly apologetic look on her face. "I was just so angry …"

"I understand, Ellen. I never realized how much you loved Saul … not until that moment. And I was numb. I was convinced that we were going to lose the baby, and that the loss would cripple Shelly emotionally. I just didn't have time for you and Saul, or anybody else. And that's an explanation, not an apology."

"No, it wouldn't be," Ellen hit back, "because that would involve an admission of guilt, and that's not you, Bill … it never has been." Ellen finished her ambrosia in one gulp, and refilled her glass.

_Some things never change,_ Adama sadly thought.

"Mother, that's enough. My husband has already lost one child. He doesn't need to be lectured about guilt."

"You really do love him, don't you, dear? I mean … we programmed you to love humans, and I did build in firewalls that would prevent you from becoming pregnant unless the entire program was activated, but still …"

Ellen toyed with her glass, and watched the light dance across its surface.

"It's the depth of your feelings for Bill that surprises me. You have certainly exceeded your operating parameters."

"Ellen, don't do this," Saul pleaded. Earth, the Colony, strip clubs on Picon, _Galactica_—Ellen's moods were the one constant in an ever changing universe.

"Aren't you proud of us, mother?" Shelly's eyes were glittering in the soft light. "The hybrid told me all about your firewalls, and how easy it was for the Ones to bypass most of them. Really, mother, how do you think that John and Kara came into being? We're more than the sum of your programming … and Cavil's!"

"The hybrids are on to all of our little secrets?" Ellen stole a glance at her husband, and wondered whether he was getting the message. "Oh, my … that is distressing."

"Not all of them," Saul chuckled as he reached for his own glass. "Our son is a bully and a braggart … that's how the hybrids know so much. But we should be thankful for that because what they don't know the Ones don't know."

"Papa has gone into the stream, mother. We did not have to pressure him to obey the commandment, and download the First Born's memories. Just like papa Sam, he did so of his own free will. But you have been avoiding your obligations to the collective, mama. I wonder why. Do you want to know what guilt tastes like? Do you want to swim in it to the point where you'll swear that you're drowning? It's all there, mama, waiting for you. Why are you so reluctant? _Could it be that you're afraid?_"

"Sweetheart, you can spare me the lecture as well. I do not need to be reminded of just how much my blind faith in my son has cost us."

"I'm glad, mother, because so far the absence of remorse on your part has been striking. You should be on your knees begging the humans for forgiveness …"

"So, what are we gonna do about Danny," Saul interjected. He had been waiting for the naturally rebellious Sixes to unload on their creators, and it didn't surprise him in the least that Shelly was the one who was firing the opening salvo.

"It's cut and dried, Colonel." Bill was also eager to change the subject. "Danny Novacek violently assaulted and murdered a superior officer in a time of war. It was a premeditated act. The fact that the officer in question turned out to be a Cylon, who promptly downloaded into a new body, is not a mitigating circumstance. I intend to convene a general court martial. Bulldog will be convicted, and then he'll face a firing squad."

"So, your son sticks a gun in Saul's ear, and ends up a CAG. Kara Thrace steals a supposedly vital piece of military equipment, and gets promoted to head of the class. But Danny Novacek is betrayed and left to rot by two men he trusted with his life, and he gets a firing squad? God, Bill," Ellen angrily flared, "you really are a pip."

"Ellen, I don't like this any more than you do, but Danny's a soldier. He volunteered for the mission, and he knew the risks. He knew what would happen if he got captured. Danny … Saul … me … we're all soldiers … we're all expendable. I did what I had to do to protect the mission, and in the same circumstances I'd do it again. It's ugly, but there it is."

"Oh, it's ugly, all right. Tell me, Bill, how did you end up on the wrong side of the Armistice Line in the first place? You committed an act of war against my children, and you've made it pretty damned clear that you did so without the President's knowledge or approval. You were carrying out an illegal order, and you played on Danny's friendship to get him to do your dirty work for you."

"Ellen …"

"Stay out of this, Saul; you're as bad as he is."

"You never change, Bill," Ellen went on in disgust. "You're so good at covering your ass that other people always end up paying for your mistakes. A lot of people would say that you're guilty of treason, and that's _before_ you and Saul decided to stage that little coup of yours against the government. That particular stunt was pure Bill Adama—you made the call, but it was Saul's head that ended up in the noose, and it was _your_ son who played the hangman."

"The difference is that Saul was alive and in one piece when he left _Colonial One_, but Danny gutted him, Ellen. Bulldog's guilty of premeditated murder."

"Yes, he is … along with about two thousand other people in this fleet, not one of whom will ever be called to account for their crimes. My grandson is one of them. Nobody said a word when he executed the mobster who was running the black market. But I guess that was okay because he was making life easier for you and the President. You want to hear the truth, Bill? Well, here it is: Danny's real crime isn't killing Saul … it's embarrassing you."

"Mother, why are you doing this? If Lieutenant Novacek isn't punished, many people will conclude that killing Cylons isn't really a crime because we immediately download into new bodies. Do you want to encourage violence against us? I'm starting to wonder what this is really all about. Were you sleeping with the lieutenant, mother? Is he one of the dozens of officers with whom you had affairs?"

"Don't exaggerate, dear; it's unbecoming."

"Mother, I'm not an Eight. I'm not going to bow and scrape, or sit here and pretend that you are without flaws."

"I'm sorry, Bill," Ellen mockingly commented. "We were still trying to work the kinks out of this model when the Ones betrayed us."

"I love Shelly just the way she is," Bill said as he rushed to his wife's defense.

There was a discreet knock on the hatch.

"Enter," Bill ordered.

Adama wasn't expecting visitors, and he most definitely wasn't expecting to see Sherman Cottle and D'Anna Biers at this time of the night, but it was the doctor and his Significant Cylon Other who strolled in. Cottle removed a single sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and laid it on the table.

"We thought that the four of you would want to see this," D'Anna said without preamble. "It summarizes the results of the blood tests that we ran on Sharon Agathon after Hera's birth. The conclusions are definitive."

An expectant hush descended upon the chamber, the increasingly bitter quarrel between Ellen Tigh and the Adamas at least momentarily forgotten. They were all staring down at two long strings of acronyms and abbreviations, hoping to make sense out of the streams of numbers that descended the page in parallel columns. Every Cylon in the fleet was waiting for this report, but no one more anxiously than Shelly Adama. She was staring down at her immediate future … at the future of the entire Cylon race.

"I must confess," Cottle began, "that I've been skeptical throughout. Anders told us what the five of you were trying to do, but I've never really believed that you or anyone else could actually pull this off. But you did it. The cylon placenta is the most incredible piece of plumbing that I've ever seen. You actually did it. Sharon's placenta filtered out all of the impurities from Hera's blood, and then allowed it freely to enter Sharon's circulatory system. At the cellular level, this would have triggered a massive assault from her immune system if she actually possessed one, but she didn't have much of anything with which to fight off the invader. But Hera's blood didn't kill off Sharon's, and this is the really incredible part—it fused with it. Do the four of you truly understand what this means?"

"In terms of her blood chemistry," D'Anna said in a voice that was filled with wonder, "Sharon is no longer cylon. She has evolved. In the simplest possible terms, Karl passed his immune system to his daughter, and Hera has improved upon it and passed it to her mother. Right now, Sharon is unique … a species unto herself."

Ellen Tigh remained silent. She was gazing blindly down at the report, a thousand fragments of memory coursing through her. She was remembering the long months of work, the endless hours that she and Galen had devoted to designing and engineering this one crucial piece of the larger cylon puzzle. It had always looked good on paper, but there had never really been any guarantees.

D'Anna quietly knelt at her side, and rested her head in her mother's lap. "You did it, mama; you gave us life, and so much more."

Unconsciously, Ellen began to run her fingers through her daughter's hair, the loving gesture recalling a different time and a different place, decades earlier, when this had been a part of their daily ritual. But Ellen was no longer aware of her surroundings, and did not even sense the steady, rhythmic movement of her fingers. She didn't see Saul's eyes mist over. In her mind she was seeing another D'Anna … and Phryne … and Sharon. Silent tears ran down her cheeks to puddle on the paper as she recalled the thirty-nine daughters who had been so brutally robbed of their future—the future that Sharon Agathon had now brought to pass.

. . .

"Hello, Hera; how's my beautiful little girl doing tonight?"

Sharon put her hand into the incubator, and stroked her daughter's palm. When the child tried to wrap its tiny hand around her finger, Sharon shrieked with delight.

"She's got quite a grip on her!"

"Of course she does," Karl grinned; "let's not forget that she's an Agathon. Our handshakes are the stuff of legends."

Sharon laughed some more, and then she turned serious. "Larissa, she's okay, isn't she? I mean … she's so tiny, and she looks so frail."

"She's doing fine," the nurse said in an upbeat voice. "She's three to four weeks premature, but thanks to all the medical equipment that we brought back from the Colonies, we can deal with that. How about you, Sharon? Are you pumping the way I taught you?"

"Yes … and my milk is beginning to flow! It's incredible! Just knowing that I'm going to be able to nurse my baby—I feel like I'm walking on air!"

"Do you want to try?"

"What? Is it safe?"

"Definitely. We plan on keeping Hera on the respirator for another week, but that's just a precaution. Her breathing isn't all that labored. At the moment, my real concern is infection, which is why we're keeping her incubated. But your milk is full of antibodies, and among other things I want to find out whether they will kick her immune system into high gear."

"Hey, Hera, did you hear that?" Helo was grinning from ear to ear. "Are you hungry? Do you want to come out and get something to eat? I know you don't like it in there."

"Let's give it a try," Larissa urged. "Sharon, you get yourself settled, and I'll bring her to you."

Sharon retreated to a reclining chair, and squirmed around until she was comfortable.

"Now remember," Larissa said, "you have to support her neck at all times. Are you ready?" She gently placed the child in her mother's arms, and helped properly to position her at Sharon's breast.

"Let's see if she'll latch on," Larissa murmured.

A crowd of Sixes and Eights gathered, all of them eager to witness the fulfillment of God's will.

"_Latch on … I'll say that she's latching on!" _Sharon looked at the nurse with astonished eyes. "It feels like I've got a vacuum pump tethered to my teat!"

Larissa studied her twin charges closely, and nodded in satisfaction. "She's certainly an aggressive feeder," the nurse conceded. "That's a very healthy sign, but we don't want to rush things. Let's limit her to ten minutes on each side … less, if you begin to feel sore. I don't want you to end up bruised and bleeding."

Sharon was in a state of complete ecstasy, giggling helplessly one moment and laughing out loud the next. "She's our little girl," she said to Helo in a voice dripping with pride and love. "Can you believe it? _We made her!_"

Her husband was kneeling at her side, gently massaging the back of her neck.

"It's enough to make you want to believe in the Cylon god," Karl conceded.

"_Helo!" _Sharon couldn't believe what she had just heard. _"Are you ready to convert?"_

"A child needs to believe in something," the lanky ECO admitted, "and this is one of those places where the parents need to be on the same page. It's really that simple."

"_Helo, I love you so completely," _Sharon gushed. She tilted her head, inviting the kiss that her husband longed to give her.

Afterwards, she reared back and looked at him with eyes at once innocent and questioning.

"Now, what was that you were saying about giving Hera a baby brother or baby sister?"

For answer, Karl Agathon kissed her again, and this time much more deeply. In his wildest dreams, he had never imagined that a human being could be this happy.

. . .

**Day 284 ACH**

**00:10 Hours**

_**Colonial One**_

"Well, it's certainly been an exciting day, and a fitting climax to a presidential campaign that has brought both candidates their fair share of ups and downs. The polls have been closed for about five hours now, and results have been trickling in at a slow but steady pace."

James McManus studied the notes on his clipboard, and mentally reviewed the evening's ebbs and flows.

"Let me summarize where we are," the reporter continued, "as well as how we got here. President Roslin surged to the front in the first hour, but that was to be expected since the returns from _Galactica_ and _Colonial One_ were among the first to be counted, and all of the polls gave Roslin a solid lead on both ships. But as more votes continued to come in, Vice-President Baltar began steadily to cut into Roslin's early lead. The _Pegasus_ crew, who are still being housed on the Cylon baseship known as the _Seeker_, voted overwhelmingly for Doctor Baltar—another result that the polls had told us to anticipate. The industrial ships, such as the _Monarch_ and the _Majahual_, split their votes about evenly between the two candidates, so it had become clear by the third hour that this election would be decided in the transport ships. Here, there have been some amazing results. President Roslin won every single vote on the _Chrion_, and the Vice-President likewise took every last vote on the _Gemenon Traveller_. As expected, Tom Zarek has corralled the Sagittaron vote for Doctor Baltar, and it is the combined strength of the Gemenese and Sagittaron voting blocs that gave the Vice-President his first lead of the night about two and a half hours ago—a lead that he has never relinquished, although it still remains razor thin. We're still waiting for more numbers to come in from the counting room on _Galactica_, but at this moment the board shows 15,287 votes for Baltar, and 14,773 for Roslin. Now, let me bring in my old friend and partner in the Colonial Gang, Sekou Hamilton of the _Aerilon Gazette_. Sekou, is this race still too close to call?"

"Absolutely, Jim, but one thing is already clear: whoever wins this election is going to have his … or her … work cut out. President Roslin is racking up top heavy majorities on the luxury liners, while the Vice-President is scoring equally impressive numbers on the freighters. What we are seeing tonight is a fleet that is strongly divided between the privileged and the poor, but with equally clear divides emerging among the Cylons. The Twos and Threes have chosen to live among the most impoverished elements of the fleet, and these ships are solidly in Doctor Baltar's camp. The Sixes favor the more affluent ships, which are voting for Roslin in large numbers. At the outset, we all thought that the Eights would side with the Sixes, but it may well turn out that this election will turn on Gaius Baltar's marriage to one of the Sharons, and on the fact that she is already expecting. Not surprisingly, the Eights have become among the most vocal of his supporters, and we can only imagine the pressure that they have been applying to their … uh… friends within the human community. We won't see their influence dramatically altering the results on any one ship, but they might well be turning five to ten votes here, and five to ten votes there, that would otherwise have gone to Roslin. In a close election, and this one is shaping up to be very close indeed, a swing of just a couple of hundred votes might ultimately determine who is going to be our next President."

"Thank you, Sekou. With me now is D'Anna Biers, investigative reporter extraordinaire. D'Anna, is it true that, when Doctor Cottle recently asked you for a blood sample, he found printer's ink flowing through your veins?"

"Should I take that as a compliment, Jim?" D'Anna laughed politely. "I'll readily admit that, like so many of the Cylon infiltrators, I have been so completely absorbed by my job that I can no longer conceive of myself as anything but a journalist."

"D'Anna, counting the votes on _Galactica_ … that caused quite a bit of controversy yesterday, did it not?"

"Indeed, Jim. Yesterday, Councilman Zarek filed a formal complaint with the Election Commission, protesting military involvement in the election process. As you know, a compromise was only reached late last night—_Galactica _to provide facilities and security for the balloting, but civilians counting the ballots in the presence of members of the Election Commission."

"The Cylons have been completely excluded from the process. Is this causing resentment among your people?"

"No, I don't think so. We all understand that this must be a human election. Still, I would be less than candid if I did not admit that we hope this will be _the last_ purely human election. Whatever the outcome tonight, we expect the issue of citizenship and full civil rights for Cylons to be addressed by the Quorum in the next session. We have become one people, and we should all share equally in the privileges and responsibilities of citizenship in this community."

"Any thoughts on who will finally be declared the winner, tonight?"

"I'm not a Two, Jim … and I don't share their gift of prophecy."

"Fair enough … what did you say, Lisa? Yes, okay … we have some more votes just coming in. We're still not done, but … oh, my … we really need to confirm these numbers because this is huge. What we have coming in right this minute is another 9,282 votes for Baltar, which brings his current total to 24,569. Is that correct? Have I got this right—these votes are coming in primarily from the human population living on the baseships? And we also have an updated total for Laura Roslin, right? We've had 5,981 more votes tallied for Roslin, which brings her total up to … 20,754. Wow … uh … this is a breakout moment for Vice-President Baltar; he's now up more than 3,800 votes …"

"There are only five ships left," D'Anna observed, "and President Roslin will have to capture more than 5,500 of the remaining 7,300 votes in order to retain office. To have any chance at all, she'll have to rack up a huge margin on the _Zephyr_. She should do well there—but will she do well enough?"

"Well, there you have it," McManus concluded. "We'll continue to bring you up-to-the-minute coverage as the count progresses."

. . .

Tory Foster quietly walked out of the President's office, and casually made her way to a telephone some distance along the corridor. She picked up the receiver, punched a button, and was instantly connected to Gaius Baltar's quarters on _Galactica_.

"Yeah, it's me," Tory whispered into the line. "We're down to the last five ships." She continued to scan the corridor, but there was no one within earshot. "What? Of course she's going to try and steal the election. You might want the judges to take a good, hard look at the ballots from the _Zephyr_. If Baltar's name is spelled correctly, they're phonies. You can confirm that with one telephone call to the captain."

A hard smile creased Tory's lips as she listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

"Let's just say that I personally arranged for the misprint, but somehow I just never found the time to bring it to Colonel Tigh's attention. . . . That's right. . . . Shocking, isn't it? Your father hates Roslin, but he's conspiring with her to rig the election. . . . Oh, I agree completely; she must have bought him off. My guess is that she offered him command of his own baseship, but admittedly that's pure speculation on my part. . . . No, I don't think that he's ambitious at all, but it's no secret that Ellen wants to move up in the world. . . . Uh huh … I know, but over the last couple of days her demeanor has become quite regal. Perhaps she's fantasizing about becoming the Cylon queen, or maybe the power behind Laura Roslin's throne … who knows?"

Tory drummed her fingers on the wall; she was anxious to get back to Roslin's desk, and see if the President had any more tricks up her sleeve.

"Yes, well, I'll leave the rest in your very capable hands … although I do suggest that you have Tom Zarek do your dirty work for you. He'll be ever so grateful for the chance to stick the knife in. Poor Tom … he's been dreaming about this day for a long, long time."

From her vantage point, Tory watched as Billy Keikeya approached the President. He had a thick sheaf of papers in his hands, and she supposed that he was about to update the numbers. Not that it would really matter.

"There's just one last thing. When I need a decision, should I talk to you or your husband?"

Tory's expression brightened considerably.

"I'm glad to hear it because, in all honesty, I don't think that Gaius has the temperament to cope with the often tedious duties of high office. I must say that I'm genuinely looking forward to working with you, _Madam President_."

. . .

Sharon Baltar hung up the phone, and caught Tom Zarek's eye. She drifted off to a far corner of the room, and Zarek wandered over to join her.

"That was our contact in the President's office. She believes that Roslin is going to try and steal the election. She suggests in particular that we challenge the ballots from the _Zephyr_. Tom, I'd like you to contact the captain, and ask him how Gaius' name was spelled. If the answer comes back 'with a C', I want you to get down to the counting room and draw the error to the attention of the election judges. Without the _Zephyr_, Roslin will never be able to overtake us."

"Your source seems amazingly well informed."

"Don't you humans have an expression … something about playing both ends against the middle? Miss Foster claims to be responsible for the misprint. Doesn't it follow that she would also be the one who's perpetrating the fraud?"

Zarek shook his head with an admiring grin. "That's clever … very, very clever. I didn't know Tory had it in her."

"She's human," Sharon replied with a smile, "and humans have a monopoly on deceit."

Sharon returned to her husband's side, and began to massage his shoulders. Baltar was staring fixedly at the radio, almost willing it to decree his fate. Tension radiated off of him in waves.

Gaius leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and let out a long, contented sigh. "Oh, that's good," he moaned; "don't stop … please, don't stop."

"Gaius, do you think that Tory Foster is pretty?" Sharon was whispering in his ear.

"I suppose so," he moaned, "but I can't say that I've ever given it much thought. Why?"

"She's clever and resourceful, and I don't trust her. If she's willing to betray Roslin, what is to keep her from betraying us at some point in the future?"

"So, do you want me to double cross her … send her packing?"

"No … I want you to sleep with her."

"_What?_ No … Sharon … I love you; you're the mother of my children, and I really want to be a good husband to you. Honestly, I've changed; I really have. I'm not interested in Tory Foster; I'm not interested in any other woman!"

"I know, Gaius; I don't doubt your loyalty for a second. But I'm asking you to do this for our children, and equally for the peaceful future that we're trying to build for our people. We need to make sure that Tory's considerable talents are working for us, not against us. This is the only way."

"Sharon … no … I don't want …"

"Gaius, I love you with all my heart and soul, and you belong to me, body and soul. I know how much you love me … love our family. But, be honest, when we're making love, aren't there times when you're just going through the motions? When you're bored because our lovemaking is no longer as exciting as it was in the beginning? I can read your mind, my love; I know you that well. Sometimes, I can almost see the equations running through your brain … the puzzles …"

"_Sharon, that's not true …"_

"Please, Gaius, don't bother denying it. I know that in bed your mind wanders; I can see it in your eyes. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that, while I'm caught up in the throes of passion, you're updating your laundry list. You have a wondrous ability to separate your mind from your body, and that's what I want you to do. Give your body to Tory, but keep your heart and soul here, with me."

"Do you really think that this will work?"

"Oh, yes—and once you've gained her confidence, casually ask her about her preferred method of birth control."

Baltar vigorously shook his head in a vain attempt to clear the cobwebs. He was now totally lost, and he didn't bother to hide it.

"My love, there's no such thing as a foolproof system of birth control, and while Tory doesn't know it, hers is about to fail."

"Sharon, what is this all about?"

"I want you to impregnate her. She is much less likely to betray the father of her child than she is the President of the Colonies. Besides, once she's pregnant, she'll be far too preoccupied to engage in treachery."

Sharon leaned around so that she could button Gaius' collar, and straighten his tie.

"Smile, darling," she said as she kissed him lightly on the lips; "you're about to become the President elect."

. . .

**Day 284 ACH**

**00:50 Hours**

_**Colonial One**_

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we're about to be joined via the wireless by Councilman Tom Zarek, who is Doctor Baltar's campaign manager, and a candidate for the vice-presidency in his own right. Councilman Zarek is currently at Baltar campaign headquarters on the _Galactica_."

"No, Jim, that's incorrect. As we speak, I'm standing a few meters outside the counting room, where a couple of marines personally commanded by Colonel Tigh are preventing me from contacting the election judges. We have just been informed that there is a problem with the ballots from the _Zephyr_, which were brought into the counting room about twenty minutes ago. Captain Edmonds is telling us that Doctor Baltar's first name was misspelled on the ballots that the ship received this morning, but we have reason to believe that this is not the case with the votes that are currently being tabulated. I have a petition in hand, which formally requests that the Election Commission determine the authenticity of these ballots before the results from the _Zephyr_ are announced."

"Tom, I want to make sure that I understand what you're saying. Are you alleging voter fraud? Are you claiming that President Roslin is attempting to steal this election?"

"Jim, despite our many disagreements, I have always held Laura Roslin in the highest respect, and I would never call her personal integrity into question. But there may well be people in her campaign organization … partisans who would do anything to secure her reelection. If I'm wrong about all this, I will issue a formal apology to the President and her staff, but the longer Colonel Tigh holds the Commission incommunicado, the more sinister this all becomes."

"There you have it, ladies and gentlemen—yet another incredible twist in a political race the likes of which I've never seen before. Vice-Presidential candidate Tom Zarek is accusing one or more unnamed individuals inside the Roslin campaign of conspiring to steal this election. Councilman Zarek has specifically accused supporters of Laura Roslin of tampering with the ballots from the _Zephyr_, which are being counted even as we speak. Obviously, we will stay on top of this story, and get back to you with additional details as soon as they become available. This is James McManus, speaking to you from the press room on _Colonial One_."

. . .

The phone rang inside the counting room, and Felix Gaeta picked it up.

"This is the Admiral. I want to speak with Colonel Tigh right now."

"Yes, sir; I'll put him on."

Felix summoned the XO to the phone. "It's Admiral Adama," he whispered. "It sounds urgent."

Tigh scowled suspiciously at the younger officer. Adama had given Felix and Saul specific orders not to allow any communication between the counting room and the outside world while the results were being tabulated. It was unlike Adama to violate his own blackout rule.

"XO," Saul said curtly.

"Colonel, I want a straight answer, and I want it now. Are you involved in a conspiracy to rig this election in favor of Laura Roslin?"

Tigh stiffened to attention, and his face turned to stone.

"Yes, sir; I am."

"Have you stuffed the ballot box from the _Zephyr_?"

"Yes, sir; I have."

"How many other ships are involved?"

"Five."

"And the total number of phony ballots in play?"

"Somewhere between five and six thousand."

"Well, Colonel, you must be working with a collection of amateurs because Baltar's camp is already on to you. Zarek is outside the hatch, waiting to file a formal protest. This farce is all over the wireless, which means that you are going to be drowning in reporters as fast as they can organize transport and get over here."

"Can you stall them?"

"I could, Colonel, but I'm not going to. In fact, I'm going to expedite their request, which means that you've got thirty minutes tops to straighten out this mess. So, I want you to suspend the count, notify one of the commissioners of the alleged irregularity, and send him out to speak with Zarek. From this point on, you will do _exactly_ what the Election Commission orders. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, sir; will there be anything else, sir?"

"Saul, are your fingerprints all over this?"

"Not really … in fact, you can make that a definite 'no', sir."

"Colonel, I presume that you know where the real ballots are being kept. I will leave it to you to decide what to do with them. Carry on."

. . .

**Day 284 ACH**

**02:20 Hours**

_**Colonial One**_

"We have some more results coming in right now. We have just received word that there are indeed problems with the ballots from the _Zephyr_, and that these votes will not be included in the final tabulation, which is now complete. And so we can now declare an unofficial winner in the presidential race. President Laura Roslin has garnered an additional 4,265 votes, which brings her total to 25,019. But the 797 additional votes that have also come in for Vice-President Baltar have taken him up to 25,366, and put him over the top. These numbers are not official, and with only 347 votes separating the two candidates we would certainly expect Laura Roslin to ask for a recount, but it now appears that Gaius Baltar has won the presidency. The big news of the evening, however, is the allegations of massive voter fraud that have been leveled against the Roslin campaign, and which have culminated with the nullification of the more than 2,200 votes cast yesterday on the _Zephyr_. We'll certainly be following this story in the days ahead, but right now we're going to concentrate on double checking these numbers. We'll be here throughout the night, and all day tomorrow if necessary. This is James McManus. Please stay tuned. We'll get back to you very shortly with further details about the recount. Thank you."

. . .

**Day 284 ACH**

**02:30 Hours**

_**Colonial One**_

When the phone on her desk beeped, Laura ignored it for several seconds. She knew who was calling, and she really wasn't up to this conversation. She waited, hoping that Adama would relent, but on the tenth ring she finally gave up.

"Yes, Bill," she said wearily; what is it?"

"Madam President, I presume that you have been listening to the news reports."

"Yes, I'm well aware of Tom Zarek's accusations—but I do not know whether there's anything to them."

"They're true, and it's not just the _Zephyr_. When I confronted Colonel Tigh, he admitted that he had switched out the voting boxes for no less than six ships. Madam President, there have been more than five thousand fraudulent votes recorded in this election. Saul said that he acted in collusion with your campaign manager, Tory Foster. He told me that Tory contacted him a few days ago, and that he agreed to help because he's convinced that Baltar will be a disaster as President. It didn't take much additional effort on my part to learn that Petty Officer Dualla and several of my crew are also involved. A judicial tribunal may have to be convened."

"That's enough, Bill. Do you want me to say it? All right … I gave Tory the go ahead. I didn't know exactly what she was planning, and I certainly didn't know about Dee or Colonel Tigh. But I did know that she was planning to fix the vote."

"_You tried to steal an election?"_

Laura winced at the tone in Adama's voice. She might as well have gone around Caprica City stealing nuts from the Saturnalia trees.

"Yes, I did … and I got caught. But Gaius Baltar …"

Laura took a deep breath, and pressed on.

"Bill, I know in my gut that settling on this planet is going to mean disaster for all of us. It … cannot … happen."

"Laura, I agree that this is a disaster in the making. The Cavils may not know about New Caprica, but it doesn't matter. If they want to find us, they will. But the people have made their choice, and we're gonna have to live with it."

"It's the wrong choice!"

"Yes, it is, but Baltar's right about one thing. As long as the Cavils are out there, New Caprica … Earth … there's not one place in the galaxy that would be truly safe. From a tactical point of view, we really don't have any good options. I'll task _Galactica_ and one of the baseships to defend the planet, and I'll send the others out to hunt them down."

"Bill, they'll be outnumbered … badly outnumbered …"

"I know, but we've all seen what Bierns and the hybrids can do on the battlefield. There's a good chance that Natalie will be able to pull this off. That's not what worries me."

"I don't want to hear this, do I?"

"If Cavil finds us before we find him? We stand to lose almost everything."

Laura let out a long, regretful sigh. "Arrange a meeting with Baltar in the morning, and make sure that Sharon is there as well. Offer them a deal. I'll go quietly if they don't demand an investigation. But, if they're inclined to raise a stink, make it equally clear that I'll demand a recount, and that I have the means to drag it out for at least six weeks, during which time this fleet will continue on course for Earth."

Bill remained silent for several seconds while he tried to read between the lines of Laura's offer. There was something about it that bothered him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The President, however, was way ahead of him.

"Admiral, can you really see Gaius Baltar sitting behind this desk? There are days when the paperwork reaches higher than Mount Parnassus, but you can't get to it because you've got fifteen meetings on your calendar, each one of them more urgent than the last. You had better get used to finding Sharon Baltar on this end of the phone."

Bill let out a soft sigh of his own. "So, that's what I'm up against?"

"Yeah, but you should thank the gods, Bill, because do you want to hear something really funny? I suspect that Sharon is going to make a superb president."

. . .

"Now tell me, Admiral," Baltar icily demanded, "exactly how did six different ballot boxes magically disappear from the decks of this ship? Who arranged for six other boxes filled with thousands of forged votes to take their place? How is it that each of them was not only properly sealed but also had the correct key oh so conveniently to hand in the counting room?"

Baltar was glaring down at Adama, who continued to sit passively behind the desk in his quarters. The scientist's face was flushed with anger. He didn't know which infuriated him the most—Adama's utterly pathetic attempt to sweep the whole incident under the rug, or the lukewarm way in which he had congratulated the new President on his election.

"In each instance," Gaius shouted accusingly, "there was a complete chain of custody stretching from the ship in question to your counting room, Admiral. And what's the common denominator in all six cases—_it's your counting room_! I assure you that you've not heard the last of this. As soon as I have the time, there will be an investigation."

"I suggest that you take your victory, Doctor, and leave it at that." Adama's stare was equally cold.

"Admiral, I think you'll find that my husband can be magnanimous in victory." Sharon was sitting quietly by the side of the desk, and she had been coolly appraising Bill Adama throughout. She had already decided that this would be the last time they attempted to beard the lion in his den.

"We have reached a crossroads in the history of our peoples, and it is vitally important that civilian and military authority work harmoniously in the weeks ahead. We intend to present legislation to the Quorum that will grant full citizenship to all of the Cylons in this fleet, including those currently incarcerated in your brig. Will you publicly support the bill when we bring it up for a vote?"

Adama switched his attention fully to Sharon Baltar. He knew a deal when he was being offered one, and he silently applauded the Eight for her impeccable sense of timing. Roslin was right. Gaius might hog the limelight, but the real power in this administration would rest with the Cylon.

"I cannot openly endorse legislation that I have not had a chance to study, but in principle, I would certainly support such a measure."

"Thank you, Admiral; you don't know how much this means to us. I hope that you will assist in drafting the measure. We intend to ask Shelly and Natalie for their input, but yours would be even more valuable because we Cylons know so little about the legislative process."

_But you are certainly a skilled negotiator,_ Adama concluded. _Few people have ever painted me into a corner quite so neatly._ His respect for this particular Eight was increasing by the second.

"I'm not a lawyer," Bill politely protested, "but I'll be happy to help in any way that I can."

"Good; it's settled, then. Please tell the President that we will agree not to pursue this matter any further if she publicly concedes the election. Once she does so, we would like you immediately to set a course for New Caprica."

"What about Bierns and the hybrids?"

"You needn't concern yourself, Admiral," Sharon said with a smile that did not reach her eyes. "The matter has already been satisfactorily resolved. So, let's take our people to their new home without further delay."

"I'll see to it at once," Bill promised as he rose from his chair to usher them out. He was strongly tempted to add _by your command_, but he somehow managed to hold his tongue.

. . .

Billy Keikeya was sitting on the side of the bed, shoulders slumped, a classic picture of dejection. Rebecca crawled across the plush red surface, and came up behind him. She rested her head on his shoulders, and turned to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

"Why so glum," she teased.

"I guess I'm out of a job, and since there isn't much demand for press secretaries in the fleet, I'm trying to figure out what else I can do. At the moment, I'm drawing a blank."

"William, tell me: on any given day, what is your single most important job?" She hugged him close, and breathed into his ear. "Think carefully before you answer," she whispered.

"No mysteries there," he laughed; "it's making you happy."

"And will I be happy if you're miserable? You like your job, Billy, and you're good at it, so why not stay on and work for President Baltar?"

"That's not going to happen, Becks. There's a lot of bad blood between Roslin and Baltar. Our new President will banish everybody associated with the current administration from _Colonial One_. I'll be lucky if he lets me move down to the planet."

"Gaius might surprise you, Billy. I've had a couple of quiet chats with my sister. She thinks highly of you, and apparently her husband does as well. Don't be shocked if he asks you to carry on."

Billy looked at her in confusion, and then, as understanding dawned, he swung Becky over his lap. He pinned her shoulders to the bed, and leaned down to kiss her.

"Am I so inept that you feel compelled to manage my life for me?" There was a sly grin on Billy Keikeya's face as he towered over the beautiful Eight who had so completely captivated him.

"One of my sisters, who shall remain anonymous, has a saying: `if it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a …'"

"_Stop! Not another word! I don't want to hear it!"_

"_But, it's true!" _Rebecca began to fumble with Billy's belt buckle. "Honestly, men are so hopeless." Now she had moved on to his zipper. "You really have only one redeeming feature."

"And here I thought that I had at least two," Billy countered as he helped her out of her sweater.

"Yum," Becky moaned as Billy took her breast in his mouth. "I stand corrected … at least two …"

. . .

"Colonel Phillips … Captain Lysander, thank you both for coming. May I offer you tea? Or perhaps you would prefer ambrosia?"

"I wouldn't mind a cup of tea," Phillips replied.

Sharon poured for three, and politely placed a tray of biscuits in the center of the table.

"Gentlemen, I know that you were expecting to meet with my husband, but he cannot under any circumstances be allowed to learn the details of this conversation. Some of the decisions that we reach here today will become public knowledge, but this amounts to a cover story. Much of what we are about to discuss cannot leave this room. I'm not going to indulge in melodrama and swear you both to secrecy. By the time we're finished, the need for secrecy will have become obvious."

The two officers stole a quick glance at one another. Sharon Baltar was a formidable presence, and they both knew it.

"Colonel, let's start with you. How does one go about building a city for 55,000 people from the ground up? Please, walk me through it."

"We've already chosen the site. The next order of business is to survey it, and develop an architectural plan—what we call a plat. Since the vast majority of construction will be residential, we need to know at the outset whether we'll be going horizontal or vertical—houses, or multi-story apartments. Housing requires a larger physical space, so more streets and a larger infrastructure."

"Captain Lysander, let's assume for the moment that the Cavils will eventually find us. Assume as well that they will occupy the settlement rather than nuke it. Which design would lend itself to a more effective resistance?"

"A mix of the two," Marcus promptly replied. "But I'd cluster the high rises, and try and interrupt the sight lines from their roofs. An occupying force would undoubtedly impose a curfew, and we would want to give our people the ability to move around at night."

Sharon nodded in understanding. "Colonel, would I be correct in assuming that it would be easier for you to lay out the basic infrastructure- water and sewage lines, underground utilities- while the site is still uninhabited?"

"Yes, ma'am; it would speed things up dramatically."

"Then there's our excuse for keeping people on the ships until the settlement is ready for occupation. Captain, here's what I have in mind. I want a sewer system spacious enough that our people can use it freely to move around underground. I want the sewers to provide direct access to a series of fully equipped bunkers capable of housing a minimum of five hundred women and children, with additional access from the inside of select houses and apartments scattered throughout the settlement. I will supply you with a list, which will be continuously updated, of all the women who are carrying or who have already delivered hybrid children. These will be the Cavils' highest priority targets, so I want them housed in such a way that every single one of them can reach a bunker in three minutes or less. But the only bunker that I want to know about personally is the one that will serve as a refuge for my family. I can't keep what I know out of the stream, nor can any other Cylon, so our knowledge of your planning must be severely restricted. This means, among other things, that neither Cylons nor centurions can be involved in the construction."

Sharon turned back to Alexander Phillips.

"Colonel, I recommend that you also devote a lot of time to scheduling your work crews on a rotation that doesn't allow any one team to sniff out what's going on here. What your people don't know, they can't divulge under torture. Any questions so far?"

Both men shook their heads. "Mrs. Baltar, you have a first-class military mind," Lysander remarked. "It's an honor to work with you."

"Thank you, Marcus … and please … both of you call me Sharon."

"Alexander," Sharon continued as she sipped her tea, "I expect my husband to make building a suitably opulent structure to house the government his first priority. Ignore him."

Both men laughed out loud. Neither one of them had voted for Gaius Baltar.

"I would like you to concentrate instead on transforming the river bank into a public park … something reminiscent of the Riverwalk in Caprica City. Behind it, as quickly as possible I'll need a series of low rise apartment buildings capable of housing everyone on the _Adriatic_. Here are the details."

Sharon handed Phillips a manifest for the almost six hundred people who called the ship home.

"The _Adriatic_ is equipped with defensive missile batteries," she explained, "so I want to liberate it for purposes of long-distance exploration. Comfortable housing on the surface should be sufficient inducement."

"For the rest," she went on, "_our_ first priority will be vital public services … to start, a hospital and schools. Give Doctor Cottle whatever he wants, Alexander—and Laura Roslin whatever she needs to educate our children. The President doesn't know it yet, but she's going back to the classroom in addition to serving as our Secretary of Education."

"_You're putting her in the government?"_ Lysander blinked in surprise.

"Marcus, we can't afford to dispense with proven talent and experience. Gaius has decided that ours will be a unity government. He will make this clear in his inaugural address."

_Gaius hasn't decided squat. _The captain almost snorted out loud; he was firmly of the opinion that Baltar couldn't get out of bed in the morning without assistance. _Thank the gods that we're going to have a real President!_

. . .

**Day 288 ACH**

**12:00 Hours**

_**Colonial One**_

"If you'll raise your right hand and repeat after me: 'I, Gaius Baltar, do now avow and affirm'…"

"_I, Gaius Baltar, do now avow and affirm …"_

"… 'that I take the office of the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol without any moral reservation or mental evasion'…"

"… _that I take the office of the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol without any moral reservation or mental evasion …"_

"…'and that I will protect and defend the Articles of Colonization with every fiber of my being'."

"… _and that I will protect and defend the Articles of Colonization with every fiber of my being."_

"Congratulations, Mr. President." The High Priest warmly shook his hand.

Baltar turned so that he could speak directly into the microphones. He was acutely aware of the dour looks that Roslin, Adama, and others throughout the room were not bothering to hide. Sharon was right; he needed to neutralize the opposition, and he needed to do it now.

"I accept the role offered to me by the Colonies with humility and gratitude. It has been a difficult campaign, but it has also been a candid one. Both sides have forthrightly laid out their vision for the future, and we have engaged in honest debate. Neither side should question the other's sincerity, but the people have now spoken. It is time for all of us to move on … together. Our new home will present us with great opportunities, but also with great challenges, and we must tackle them as one people. I will not remain in splendid isolation on board _Colonial One_. Few people know that I was born and raised on Aerilon, and that I grew up a farmer. I intend, therefore, to be a hands-on President, as in hands on shovels and hoes …"

This admission elicited laughter throughout the room.

"I will devote a great deal of my time to agriculture, but I cannot pretend to be a businessman or an industrialist. Therefore, I have asked Wallace Gray to serve as our Minister of Finance and Industry."

Gaius paused, allowing the suspense to build, and reveling in the drama of the moment.

"I am truly delighted to announce that he has agreed to accept the appointment."

_Wally, you double crossing son of a bitch! _Roslin was seething, in a chamber that was now rocking with applause.

"I know that Laura Roslin wants to return to the classroom, and her services there will be invaluable."

Gaius looked over his shoulder, and forced eye contact with his defeated rival.

"But because we must face the challenges of the future together, I would also like to invite her to resume her duties as our Secretary of Education. What do you say, Laura?"

A shocked silence descended upon the room as Baltar closed the distance between them, and offered her his hand.

_Oh, this is cute, _she raged. _I wonder whether it was Sharon or Zarek who cooked up this little stunt. _But the politician's professional mask had already slid neatly into place, and few people in the room sensed the depth of her anger. She had been superbly played, and there was no way to escape the trap that wouldn't make her look like a sore loser.

"This is an unexpected surprise, Mr. President. I would be delighted to serve in your administration, in whatever role you think might allow me best to help our people."

"Thank you, Laura; your selflessness makes you a role model for us all." Laura did not miss the subtle undertone of insincerity in Baltar's voice.

"This is a time for continuity, not disruption." Gaius was no longer looking at Roslin, and it took every ounce of self-discipline that he possessed not to turn his head in her direction. This was where he was really going to rub it in.

"Accordingly, in order to make the transition as seamless as possible, I have prevailed upon Billy Keikeya to continue serving as Press Secretary, and Tory Foster as Chief of Staff."

Another shock wave rolled through the chamber, and Laura turned to confront her two aides. Billy had the decency to avoid her gaze, but Tory looked coolly back at her. _You betrayed me, didn't you, Tory? When, I wonder, did you turn traitor?_

"But when I speak of a single people," Baltar continued, "I am not speaking of humans alone." Gaius reached out to take Sharon's hand. "The President's door will always be open, but do not be surprised if it is my wife who is waiting to receive you. The First Lady of the Colonies is cylon, and not yet a citizen, but I will ask the Quorum to remedy this injustice as quickly as possible. Equality before the law is a principle that we must embrace for all of our people, and not just a portion of them. There will be no cylon ghetto on this new world. We are one people, and we will face the challenges of the future as a single community."

"And now," the President concluded, "because it was the first will of the people, I'm going to sign my first executive order, requiring us immediately to establish a settlement on the planet that we have come to know as New Caprica."

To thunderous applause, Gaius signed the document with a flourish.

"I know how anxious everyone is to get down to the surface, but we have to give the survey team time to do its work. Colonel Phillips tells me that, with all of the heavy construction equipment and material that the baseships have brought back from the Colonies, it will take his brigade about three weeks to prepare the site for permanent habitation. But I'm going to hold him to that date. Alexander, precisely twenty-one days from now, on the morning of the three hundred and ninth day of the Exodus, we will begin transporting our people to the surface!"

. . .

**Day 329**

**Mid-morning**

**New Caprica City**

"It's hard to believe," Laura Roslin observed, "how much this place already feels like home … and yet it's so different!"

Caprica Six casually surveyed the crowd through which they were slowly making their way. The street was thronged with people busily going about their daily lives. The Secretary of Education and the Cylon Colonial Secret Service officer had met by accident in the maternity ward of their new hospital, whose first wings had only opened five days earlier.

"It has the vibrancy of downtown Caprica City," the Six agreed, "but here every colony is on display. It's the diversity that's so striking."

"You're right, Caprica; there wasn't a community anywhere in the Colonies that looked like this. The clothing styles alone … they're enough to make my head spin!"

"Frankly, Madam President, what surprises me is that people aren't stopping to stare at all the Cylons in their midst. If nothing else, you would expect that seeing thousands of copies of our five models would turn a lot of heads."

Laura laughed, and patted her friend lightly on the back. "Caprica, people adapt, and the younger they are the more easily they accept change. And it helps that your females are all young and beautiful, and that the fleet was filled to overflowing with unattached males. No one will ever convince me that Richard and John didn't plan it this way. How I wish that Richard could see what we've achieved."

Laura continued badly to miss Richard Adar. She regretted the bitter words that she had hurled in his face on that last day. The lack of closure, in tandem with the relentless pressure of her office, had kept her from moving on.

"But I feel sorry for you, Six. Being the newly appointed Chief of the New Caprica City police force must have cost you a few friends."

"Well, at least one of my sisters is clearly unhappy with me. Six keeps pressuring me to do something about the Sons of Ares. Her friends in the black market want the competition run out of town on a rail. She's threatening to take the law into her own hands if I don't get on with it."

"Gods, you're not going to arrest her, are you?"

"I can't … Erin would never let me hear the end of it."

"It must be hard for you," Laura chuckled, "having the head of the police department's elite Flying Squad married to the only Cylon gangster in our midst."

"The arrangement does have its advantages, Laura—especially when it comes to intelligence gathering."

"Perhaps, but I don't mind admitting that of all the mixed marriages we celebrated on Founder's Day, that one took me by surprise."

"How are Billy and Rebecca doing? Are you still angry with him?"

"Caprica, you know as well as I do that it's impossible to stay mad at Billy Keikeya for very long. All I really want to do is mother him, but now that's Rebecca's job. They're trying to start a family, but …"

"I know. I hear the same thing all over the settlement. Nine months from now, there's going to be a population explosion within the human community, but very few Cylons have managed to become pregnant—and it's not like we haven't been trying."

"Doc Cottle keeps nagging Ellen Tigh to cough up the answer, but she stubbornly insists that she only knows a piece of it. Sam says that she's telling the truth, but I still think that you ought to kidnap her, shove her hand into that data stream of yours, and force her to tell us what she knows."

"It may come to that, Laura. Some of my sisters are seriously unhappy with mother. A frustrated female machine is not a pretty sight."

Laura and Caprica entered the market square, and paused for a moment to listen to the stall keepers. They were hawking their wares in a dozen different languages and dialects, and Laura was content to let the cacophony wash over her. She didn't notice the four Adamas in the distance, but Caprica nudged her in their direction. Both Lee and the admiral were wearing their uniforms, but it was the two visibly pregnant Sixes on their arms that made their party stand out.

"Madam President … Caprica …"

Laura couldn't help but smile. "Bill, I believe that the correct honorific is 'Madam Secretary'. Our esteemed President would be most unhappy if he were to find out that you were addressing me by my former title."

"Somehow, Madam President, I suspect that Gaius Baltar has more pressing things on his plate right now. Caprica, have the police received any domestic disturbance calls from _Colonial One_?"

Bill managed to keep a straight face, but Lee snickered, and Shelly and Creusa both had a merry gleam in their eyes.

"No, Admiral, we haven't. I report to the President- excuse me, I see Sharon- every day. She's publicly acknowledged that Gaius is the father of Tory's unborn child, but she seems completely unaffected by the news. She loves Gaius … we can all see that. What puzzles me is that he obviously loves her, so why would he be cheating on her so early in their marriage?"

"Baltar is a womanizer; it's in his nature to cheat."

"Perhaps," Shelly cynically observed, "Sharon is setting up a harem for her husband …"

"Perhaps she's encouraging him to frak Tory," Creusa interrupted, "so that she'll be able to concentrate on executing the duties of his office. Maybe he'll marry her, too, and they'll all become one big, happy family."

"Poor Gaius," Caprica sighed; "and to think that I once had feelings for him."

"Don't feel too sorry for him," Lee countered. "He has an amazing ability to land on his feet."

"With three babies on the way," Laura maliciously remarked, "Gaius is going to be spending a lot of time on his feet—around two in the morning, I should think."

The six of them all started to laugh. The image of Gaius Baltar changing a stinky diaper was a real challenge to the imagination of Cylons and humans alike.

"So, have you been to see Giana and the baby," Shelly asked.

"We just came from the hospital," Laura replied. "The mother and child are both doing well. Simon expects to take them home tomorrow."

"We were just visiting Sharon and Karl," Creusa explained. "Hera's two months old, but Sharon says that a dozen or more Eights still come by every day. She's hoping that Sherman will become the new center of their attention."

"I would have thought that Sharon would welcome the help," Laura said in surprise.

"Actually, it's Hera. Helo says that she's very fussy, but selectively so. She's fine with her parents, with Kara and John, and with any Cylon who's pregnant, but she doesn't like being held by anybody else. The one exception," Shelly added, "is Boomer. It must be because she's Kara's mate."

"But she never protests when I cuddle her," Caprica pointed out.

"Because you're important to John," Creusa observed. "It's just one more piece of evidence that our children are going to be … different." Shelly and Creusa looked meaningfully at each other.

"What Shelly is alluding to," Bill noted in a studiously neutral voice, "is that Callista and Cyrene are quietly content when their parents are together, but they become quite upset when we go our separate ways."

"Even in the womb, they seem to be able to sense each other's presence," Creusa proudly remarked. She knew that her human father found the children's abilities disturbing, but her faith in God's plan for them all was absolute.

"One thing's for sure," Lee chortled; "the Adama girls are going to be joined at the hip, and they'll both look up to Hera as their big sister. I reckon that we'll have to throw out everything we know, or think we know, about child development … family structure … all sorts of things. We'll just have to start over."

"Caprica, was the Six able to identify the men who murdered her?" Bill was prepared to send in the marines if his sister-in-law wanted his help. The Six, who had been brutally assaulted the previous week, had been out alone late at night. Everything suggested that she had been attacked simply because she was cylon.

"The leader was covered with tattoos, which suggests a Tauron, and we're confident that the other members of the gang were all Sons of Ares. Anthia broke one guy's arm, separated another's shoulder, and kicked a third man so hard that his testicles probably ended up lodged against his spleen. The first two were dumb enough to go to the hospital to have their injuries treated. We have them under covert surveillance. Once we have all the names and faces, we'll mount a sting operation. If they take the bait, we'll crush the Sons of Ares once and for all."

"If you need my help …"

"Admiral, your marines already make up more than half of the police department. We'll manage."

"Now we just have to get Gaius to calm down." Shelly was still serving on the Quorum, and Sharon often turned to her for advice. "The attack really angered him. He's so incensed that he wants to introduce hate crimes legislation to stiffen the penalties against anyone who assaults Cylons in the future. The sentiment is admirable, but Gaius doesn't understand that identity politics leads straight to tribalism, which is the one thing that can destroy this community from within. If as a matter of law we turn Cylons into an aggrieved group, then the Sagittarons will claim that they're being persecuted … the Gemenese will ask for special treatment … there'll simply be no end to it."

"The President still has too much time on his hands," Laura bluntly asserted. "Yes, he's out in the fields every day with the Twos, but it will be some months before the … uh … first medicinal crop is ripe for harvest. Now, if Leoben could be persuaded to share his stash with our heroic leader, and if one of the baseships might magically resupply the liquor cabinet on _Colonial One_ …"

"Then Sharon could get on with the business of running the government," Shelly finished. Another round of laughter ensued.

"We're having a farewell party aboard _Galactica _on Saturday night; Madame President, I trust that you and Caprica will both be able to come?"

"When is Kara leaving," Laura sighed.

"The _Adriatic _will break orbit on Sunday morning. Kara will head straight for Earth, but she'll detour to check out any promising systems along her route. If Earth's a bust, it will be up to her to decide what to do next."

"And the fleet … is it still on schedule?"

Adama nodded. "We're still shifting personnel around, and we haven't finished topping off the fuel loads, but we should be okay. Natalie and John will leave on Monday morning."

Adama had assigned three baseships to hunt down the Cavils and finish the war. The cylon tanker, and one of the resurrection ships, would complete the task force. Zenobia's baseship would remain in orbit alongside _Galactica_; Pelea would be integrated into the hybrid network when the fleet was well clear of New Caprica … and the war would begin in deadly earnest.

Laura couldn't hold back her tears. "I'm sorry," she sniffled; "it's just that Natalie and I have been through so much together. I'm going to miss her terribly—and I still think that it's a horrible idea to allow the children to go with her."

"The ship is their home, Laura. Natalie won't leave Pyrrha, and Melpomene won't desert Reun. It has to be this way." Roslin was a civilian to the core, and Bill didn't expect her to understand the intensity of the loyalties that were in play here.

"And Sharon will never leave John's side," Shelly went on. "When it became clear that our child had fallen in love with her, she agreed to be reprogrammed … _she asked for it_. She will protect him with her life, and if need be, with the life of her daughter."

"I know … I know. It's just so unfair," Laura cried. "I just want this war to end."

"You must have faith, Madam President." Creusa was speaking with the voice of a true believer. "The prophecies speak truth. John will deliver us from evil, and Kara will take us home."

"You don't believe, then, that New Caprica is the end of our journey?"

"Kara did not guide us here, Madam President. Hence you will find no one among the cylon who regards New Caprica as anything more than a temporary refuge. When she returns, the journey will continue."

. . ,

**Day 332**

**Early Afternoon**

**Somewhere North of New Caprica City**

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, and it found Laura Roslin already wide awake. She was planning to make a return visit to the little piece of paradise that she had discovered seven days earlier. An overpowering desire to escape the hundreds of well wishers who greeted her at every turn in the settlement had urged her spontaneously to set off into the interior. She had walked toward the mountains to the north, and some three hours later had stumbled upon a lake with water so clear that it was like looking through glass. A rushing stream fed the lake, and a boulder strewn brook descended over a series of terraces to the broad river that eventually flowed into the sea. Laura had fallen in love with the untouched beauty that awaited her at every turn, and she had determined to return the following weekend. Today she had packed a picnic lunch and, sitting on a fallen log, had soaked up the sun while in her mind she laid out the cabin that she had already decided to build on the shoreline.

After lunch, Laura reluctantly packed up her hamper, and set off on her return journey. She had plenty of time, and so on impulse, she chose to follow the creek down to the river, and take the long way back to the settlement. She descended the grassy slopes to the broad savannah that girdled the river, and an hour or so later stepped out onto the hard packed soil at the edge of its easternmost channel.

She frowned in puzzlement. Thousands of footprints disturbed the ground, and even from a distance she could count the blackened remains of more than a dozen bonfires. Their circumference was so large that she had only to close her eyes to envision the flickering firelight that not too long before must have turned night into day. But no one had ventured this far up the river; there had been festivities aplenty, but they had all taken place within the settlement.

Gingerly, Laura walked across the well trodden ground, and then she spotted a flash of red that had no place in the dense green brush that, here and there, dotted the landscape. Curious, she walked over and removed what turned out to be a piece of cellophane that was caught up in a bush. She turned it over, and what she saw took her breath away. _Sarcoma_ was one of the most popular brands of cigarettes in the Colonies, but even on the decks of the _Prometheus_ it had already become a prohibitively expensive luxury item months before.

In one searing flash of insight, Laura Roslin finally grasped that which for so long had tantalized her. John Bierns had wrapped a single, enormous lie inside fine tissue made up of many small truths. Finally, she could see the dim outlines of the incredible plot that had been hatched inside Richard Adar's office.

_The Cylon baseship that defected before the attacks is still out there, isn't it John? It shepherded another fleet out of the battle zone—a fleet that's now well ahead of us. That's the ship whose hybrid you married; she's the mother of the child that the two of you somehow conceived before the attacks._

Laura squinted up into the sky, her mind straining to sense the presence of the fleet whose existence provided the solution to so many mysteries.

_Did Anita survive? The Minister of Defense was also in space that morning … was she instructed to maintain radio silence when the Case Orange alert was broadcast?_

Laura's thoughts surged ahead, tumbling out of the Pandora's Box that had become her mind.

_And how many did you and Richard manage to save? Is it a blended fleet, with hybrid babies of its own?_

One very ugly thought seeped into Laura's consciousness.

_We're an accident of history, aren't we, John? You never expected this fleet to coalesce, nor to make good its escape. Have we ever been anything more than bait that you're using to reel the Cavils in while Anita leads our people to safety?_

Laura knew that she had to cover up the evidence, but she couldn't do it by herself. It was John's mess, but he would be paralyzed out here in the open, so there was no point in asking him. She would have to find somebody else—someone who could get the job done, and then forever banish it from his memory. She could think of only two people who might fit the bill.

. . .

**Day 444**

**The Algae Planet**

**The Temple of the Five**

"So, if we take the sacred scrolls at face value, the Thirteenth tribe built this temple on its way to Earth around four thousand years ago." Anita Suarez ran her fingers over the mysterious characters chiseled into the stone. She couldn't decipher them—and neither could anyone else in the fleet.

"That's right," Chryses replied. The elderly priest of Apollo couldn't read the script that ran all the way around the walls, but the sheer antiquity of the vaguely familiar characters nevertheless had much to teach them.

"Well, this place wasn't exactly built in a day, and there are no surrounding ruins to suggest that it was part of a larger settlement. _What were they doing here_?"

"The scrolls make it clear that the five pillars are symbolic stand-ins for the college of five priests who presided over the worship of 'One Whose Name Cannot Be Spoken'. They tell us little else."

"That sounds ominous. Were they devil worshippers," Caleb inquired.

"It's possible," D'Anna thoughtfully observed. "But our scriptures talk about 'the angry God' … 'the jealous God' … 'the God of Wrath'. It's always 'god' in the singular."

"So, you think that they were monotheists? Could the Thirteenth tribe have been a breakaway Gemenese sect? Their god has always been pretty unforgiving."

D'Anna silently shook her head. They were standing on hallowed ground, but she had many questions and very few answers.

"Let's keep in mind that this is the first time we've been able to make planetfall since we stumbled across that piece of space junk at the Lion's Head nebula." Eve Six was speaking up for the first time. "If Aurelia hadn't had the foresight to test it for contaminants before we brought it on board, 95% of the Cylons in this fleet would now be dead. But remember, four thousand years ago lymphocytic encephalitis was as deadly to man as it now is to the cylon. If an epidemic had broken out on their ships, wouldn't they have attributed it to the wrath of their jealous god? Since we're following their course, let's assume that this was also the first world on which they could land and beg their angry god for forgiveness. A sick … perhaps a dying people … built this temple in order to offer up the sacrifices that might appease His wrath."

"Human sacrifices," Aurelia Afzelius tersely added. They had all been chilled by what the altar had revealed. The microscopic remains of dried blood and necrotic flesh had all been human. Aurelia had even been able to type the blood groups of the twelve victims. The number could not be coincidental, and it led to frightening conclusions about the last days of the war on Kobol.

"Aurelia, in retrospect, I'm awfully glad that Eve gave the order to destroy that plague infested piece of crap when she had the chance. Now, it won't be luring anybody else to their deaths." Anita was looking around the temple, and her expression was grim. "Madam President, we need to convene the Quorum, and talk about where we go from here. Searching out the Thirteenth tribe is suddenly beginning to look like a very bad idea."

President Eve Six nodded her head in agreement. "I propose to continue on to the Ionian Nebula, but once we're on the other side, I think that we should begin exploring every G, M and K class system within reach. It's either cross the dark to the next spiral arm, or find a home somewhere in that quadrant."

"Honey, what do you want to do about this place?" Caleb was looking expectantly at his wife.

"Leave it. Kara Thrace is coming up fast in the _Adriatic_. Our Second Born may learn something here that we have missed. Let's go home."

Careful to leave no trace of their presence, the landing party returned to the baseship that had remained high in orbit over the planet. Eve's son was now four and a half months old, and it seemed like Cain was perpetually hungry. Still, Eve was determined gradually to start weaning him in the seventh month. She wanted to have another child, and in the vision that Deirdre had granted her, she had caught a glimpse of another little boy playing with his older brother in the tall grass of a windswept savannah. Her second born would bear his grandfather's name; it was the human way, and Eve bore no objection. She prayed nightly to God that she might bear her husband many children, for she badly wanted daughters to grow up side by side with their brothers, Cain and Abel Adama.

SEASON TWO CONCLUDES

**Author's note: have you ever wondered what the many Sixes and Eights in this story look like? Lydia and Creusa both closely resemble Lida, the Six who comforts Baltar in season four's **_**Blood on the Scales**_**. Sharon Bierns is the "soft" Eight who attends Boomer's resurrection in season two's **_**Downloaded**_**, but she is also the "soft" Eight who turns out to have some very sharp edges in the Webisode series **_**Face of the Enemy**_**. Sharon Liu (yes, Sharon and Philista married on Founder's Day) graces the jacket of Disk 2, Season 3 of the DVD collection. In turn, Sharon Baltar is the very determined Eight whom we see in the background of Disk 3, Season 3, and in the foreground of Disk 1, Season 3. Finally, Rebecca Keikeya is in the foreground of Disk 4, Season 4.5. **


	48. Chapter 48: The Last Word

**WARNING! THIS CHRONOLOGY IS A READY REFERENCE TO ASSIST READERS WHO HAVE ALREADY FINISHED WITH SEASON TWO. IT CONTAINS MANY SPOILERS.**

**CHRONOLOGY (SEASON 2)**

**BCH (BEFORE CYLON HOLOCAUST)**

**YEARS**

4500-4000: Humans on Kobol invent mechanical slaves; the first humanform Cylons are introduced; religious conflict leads to a nuclear war that devastates the planet; the thirteen tribes flee

**ACE (AFTER CYLON EXODUS)**

**YEARS**

2: Cylons build the Temple of Hopes on the algae planet and offer up human sacrifices to the One Whose Name Cannot Be Spoken

40: After forty years of wandering in the galactic wilderness, the Cylons settle their Earth

1412: Eve is the first child born to a Cylon pairing

1412-1600: Resurrection technology is abandoned as the Cylons universally embrace reproduction

1975-2000: The Cylons invent mechanical slaves; the slaves revolt, and nuclear war devastates the planet; the Final Five begin their journey to the Colonies

**BCH (BEFORE CYLON HOLOCAUST)**

**YEARS**

40: Humans and Cylons sign the Cimtar Accords

38: CSS analysts conclude that the Cylons are engaged in biosynthetic experiments

35: Cavil boxes the Final Five

34: Three gives forced birth to John Bierns on the Colony

25: A Six gives forced birth to Kara Thrace on the Colony

21: John Bierns flees Virgon

20: Bierns surfaces on Caprica

13: Harlan Berriman recruits Bierns into the CSS

6: _Valkyrie_, under the command of William Adama, violates the Armistice Line; Bierns becomes President Adar's "Lord High Executioner;" the first Cylon infiltrators enter the Colonies; the murder of Mara Andreotis devastates Bierns

4: The second wave of Cylon infiltrators reaches the Colonies

2: The Troy mining disaster triggers the third wave of infiltration

**YEAR ONE, MONTHS**

5: Natasi Six seduces and betrays Bierns, whose identity is accidentally unmasked under torture on a Cylon baseship; the hybrid triggers an uprising by freeing the centurions from slavery

4: Bierns recovers sufficiently to return to the Colonies; Project Diaspora gets under way

**YEAR ONE, DAYS**

36: The hybrid (Deirdre) becomes pregnant by John Bierns in the parallel dimension earlier known as V-world

**ACH (AFTER CYLON HOLOCAUST) YEAR ONE AND FOLLOWING**

**DAYS**

11: John Bierns reaches the fleet

17: Shelly Godfrey kills John Cavil and defects; the Six with no name and Leoben Conoy are arrested; Lydia Sextus defects

23: Bierns confronts Simon O'Neill

24: Sharon becomes pregnant on Caprica

26: The Press Conference

27: Bierns and Adama persuade the Six with No Name to defect

56: Giana O'Neill becomes pregnant

58: _Galactica_ assaults the asteroid; Bierns frees the surviving centurions

62: Aaron Doral sends one of the surviving centurions to his former (Natalie's) baseship

63: Raptor 612 encounters Natalie's baseship

66: Bierns is severely injured during a prisoner exchange on the baseship; Starbuck jumps to Caprica; Leoben deduces that John and Kara are the First and Second Born; Thalia dies in the Delphi museum; The Battle of Caprica

67: Natalie, Creusa, and the rebel baseship capture the asteroid

68: Boomer and Racetrack destroy the baseship over Kobol; Laura Roslin and Lee Adama are arrested; Boomer commits suicide; first Battle of Kobol

69: The _Gideon _incident; Roslin signs the Accord

76: Adama returns to duty; Bill and Shelly mourn Boomer in the _Galactica _morgue

78: Natalie and Adama meet for the first time

79: Roslin divides the fleet

80: Starbuck opens the Tomb of Athena; the second Battle of Kobol

82: Galen Tyrol transferred to the baseship

84: A mixed crew begins construction of the stealth Blackbird

124: Creusa becomes pregnant

126: Blackbird completes its successful test flight

143: Shelly and Adama marry

159: Shelly becomes pregnant

175: _Pegasus_ reaches the fleet, and Cain conspires with _Demand Peace_

177: The Diaspora fleet reaches New Caprica

178: Battle of the Resurrection Ship; Bierns and Gina Inviere escape _Pegasus_; Caprica Six and Boomer flee their baseship; the assassination of Helena Cain

182: Hoshi's Raptor is captured by the Cavils

192: Sharon Eight becomes pregnant by John Bierns

193: Bierns leads Caprica's captured baseship back to Picon to begin its evacuation

203: Kat becomes pregnant with Leoben's child

204: The Diaspora fleet departs New Caprica

207: The evacuation of Picon is completed

208: Natalie's baseship reaches Gemenon, where it finds Caprica's ship in orbit; Lacy Rand and Kara Thrace solve the mystery underlying the horrific visions that an emotionally distraught John Bierns is projecting across the hybrid community

210: Caprica Six reunites with Sam Anders on the first day of the evacuation of Caprica

213: Aphrodite becomes pregnant

224: The birth of Ariadne Bierns at Galatea Bay

234: Sharon Eight and John Bierns marry

235: Sam Anders downloads

239: Baltar's Eight becomes pregnant

243: The fleet reunites

248: Artemis and Stallion discover New Caprica

250: Baltar's baseship chases down the fleet; Artemis and Stallion report their discovery

254: Saul and Ellen Tigh download

256: The Diaspora Fleet discovers the artifact at the Lion's Head nebula

269: The premature birth of Hera Agathon

283: The presidential election

288: Baltar assumes the presidency

309: Permanent settlement of New Caprica begins

310: Eve Six gives birth to Cain Adama

326: The birth of Sherman O'Neill

333: Kara Thrace resumes the search for Earth

334: Natalie Six and John Bierns resume the war

444: The Diaspora fleet reaches the algae planet and discovers the Temple of the Five


End file.
